Fall 2022 issue of Backcountry Journal

BACKCOUNTRY JOURNAL

COLIN’S CORNER

The best things in life take time. At least that’s how one of those sayings goes.

The pyramids weren’t built in a day, and we didn’t get the Land and Water Conservation Fund fully funded overnight, either. The same is true in the woods or on the water. Put in the time and reap the rewards. I sometimes wonder about a young kid who draws a coveted tag in their first year of hunting then shoots a monster bull. Where do they go from there? I’m still on the hunt for that giant wapiti.

As a father I often face questions like these. You want your offspring to be successful and get the bug, but you want them to face adversity and challenge, as well. Nothing is right or wrong; it just is.

For the past two years, Colin and I have been focused on catching him his first trout on a fly. He’s caught plenty of trout in Montana on lakes and through ice holes – as well as barracuda and jacks in Mexico – with conventional tackle, so he’s no fishing newbie. His sister caught her first fish on a fly when she was 10. Colin turned 11 in March, so he has extra motivation. It ain’t for lack of trying. He has had dozens of opportunities and put forth his best effort on all. I’ve prayed to the fish gods to just have a trout inhale his fly, catching itself. But alas, lots of near misses. Lots.

I fished many days this June on my favorite river and connected with friends old and new. The river gave plenty as the salmon fly and golden stone hatches ran through their cycles. What I most anticipated though was three days with my boy, three days at the peak of the golden stone hatch. Bugs as big as your pinky, voracious topwater eats … this was his time.

On our first night together, we left town late and didn’t get to the river till 5. I watched Colin thread his line through the guides like I know my father watched me … it took a while, but he got it done and tied on a big yellow bug to boot. With this late a start, the river would be ours and ours alone. As we slid the Irish Lass into the rushing spring waters, I had a good feeling. The flow and temp were right, and the trout were hungry.

It didn’t take long. Fish not only came up for a look; they were committed. One after another was missed. Too early. Too late. As we came around the next bend my heart beat a little faster, knowing that this stretch had produced a lot of fish to the boat. I let Colin know of the impending opportunity, and you could see the energy of anticipation ooze out of every body part. All the water in the river goes river right into a sheer cliff and creates boiling hydraulics. This creates a washing machine of bugs and fish.

I glanced down river to look for obstructions, and in that moment it happened. When I asked later if the fish was on top of or underneath the water when it took … he couldn’t remember.

This will remain a mystery for all time. I pulled over to river left, and Colin fought the fish expertly and deftly worked it into the net. I let out a yell followed by a big high five. His first trout on a fly! The cutbow (hybrid of a rainbow and cutthroat) will be forever etched in both of our minds, partly because we didn’t get a picture due to a small mishap. That’s OK.

I’ve reveled in listening to Colin tell this story and watching him watch me tell this story ever sense. Forever this bend in the river will be dubbed Colin’s Corner. But it won’t be that fish I will remember most. As we floated onwards that day, something clicked in Colin. He missed a few more fish, but more were put in the boat, including three brown trout that we cooked over the open fire that night. The proverbial monkey was off his back.

As the evening light waned and the temperature cooled, he looked back at me. No words were exchanged. Just our eyes exchanged so much. The years of challenge, the excitement of the day, the magical place we were in and much more. What I’ll take most from that look though was just a simple acknowledgement that we were experiencing this together, just us two.

As you read this, we are in the middle of Public Lands Month. Remember your own first in the woods or on the water – and firsts of others you have been part of. The challenges, adventures and opportunities only wild lands can provide. We have an embarrassment of riches when it comes to pursuits afield. It’s up to us to keep them that way … even enhance them. If nothing else, so parents and kids can get the quality time together they so desperately desire.

Onward and upward,

Land Tawney President and CEO

Colin rigging up.

THE VOICE FOR OUR WILD PUBLIC LANDS, WATERS AND WILDLIFE

NORTH AMERICAN BOARD OF DIRECTORS

Ted Koch (Idaho) Chairman

J.R. Young (California) Vice Chairman

Jeffrey Jones (Alabama) Treasurer

T. Edward Nickens (North Carolina) Secretary

STAFF

Land Tawney, President and CEO

Tim Brass, State Policy and Field Operations Director

John Gale, Conservation Director

Frankie McBurney Olson, Operations Director

Katie McKalip, Communications Director

Rachel Schmidt, Innovative Alliances Director

Chris Borgatti, New York and New England Chapter Coordinator

Travis Bradford, Video Production and Graphic Design Coordinator

Veronica Corbett, Montana Chapter Organizer

Trey Curtiss, R3 Coordinator

Katie DeLorenzo, Western Regional Manager and Southwest Chapter Coordinator

Kevin Farron, Montana Chapter Coordinator

Britney Fregerio, Controller

Brady Fryberger, Office Manager

Chris Hager, Washington and Oregon Chapter Coordinator

Andrew Hahne, Merchandise and Operations

Aaron Hebeisen, Chapter Coordinator (MN, WI, IA, IL, MO)

Chris Hennessey, Regional Manager

Contributors in this Issue

Cover Photo: Aaron Agosto

Above Image: The North American Non-Lead Partnership’s Leland Brown leads a seminar on preparing your pack for a backcountry hunt at a BHA and Hunters of Color “Explore Hunting” workshop in Portland, Oregon. Photo: Travis Bradford.

Raven Aäe, Max Benz, Brian Beard, Mandy Carlstrom, Bjorn Dihle, Kevin Fraley, Eduardo Garcia, Leyton Hanneman, Matt Hanneman, Steven Hawley, Ben Herndon, Erik Holterman, Drew Kazenski, Alex Krebs, David Lien, Scott Linden, Chris Miller, John Organ, Ian Ramsey, Tia Shoemaker, Jessy Stevenson, Mike Stevenson, Geneviève Joëlle Villamizar, Michael Woods, Lindsey Yundt

Journal Submissions: williams@backcountryhunters.org

Advertising and Partnership Inquiries: mills@backcountryhunters.org

Heather Kelly (Alaska)

Ben O’Brien (Montana)

Michael Beagle (Oregon) President Emeritus

Ace Hess, Idaho and Nevada Chapter Coordinator

Jameson Hibbs, Chapter Coordinator (MI, IN, OH, KY, WV)

Trevor Hubbs, Armed Forces Initiative Coordinator

Josh Kaywood, Southeast Chapter Coordinator

Kate Mayfield, Operations Coordinator

Kaden McArthur, Goverment Relations Manager

Jason Meekhof, Events and Special Projects Coordinator

Josh Mills, Conservation Partnership Coordinator

Erin Nuzzo, Grants and Annual Giving Coordinator

Devin O’Dea, California Chapter Coordinator

Brittany Parker, Habitat Stewardship Coordinator

Thomas Plank, Communications Coordinator

Kylie Schumacher, Collegiate Program Coordinator

Ryan Silcox, Membership Coordinator

Joshua Stratton, Great Plains Chapter Coordinator

Brien Webster, Program Manager and Colorado and Wyoming Chapter Coordinator

Zack Williams, Backcountry Journal Editor

Interns: Haley Erickson, Jenna McCrorie, Faith Wells

BHA HEADQUARTERS

P.O. Box 9257, Missoula, MT 59807 www.backcountryhunters.org

admin@backcountryhunters.org

(406) 926-1908

Backcountry Journal is the quarterly membership publication of Backcountry Hunters & Anglers, a North American conservation nonprofit 501(c)(3) with chapters in 48 states and the District of Columbia, two Canadian provinces and one Canadian territory. Become part of the voice for our wild public lands, waters and wildlife. Join us at backcountryhunters.org

All rights reserved. Content may not be reproduced in any manner without the consent of the publisher.

Published Sept. 2022. Volume XVII, Issue IV

General Inquiries: admin@backcountryhunters.org JOIN THE CONVERSATION

Dr. Keenan Adams (Puerto Rico) Ryan Callaghan (Montana) Bill Hanlon (British Columbia) Hilary Hutcheson (Montana)

Dr. Christopher L. Jenkins (Georgia)

“NEVER DOUBT THAT A SMALL GROUP OF THOUGHTFUL, COMMITTED CITIZENS CAN CHANGE THE WORLD; INDEED, IT IS THE ONLY THING THAT EVER HAS.” —MARGARET MEAD

A Chance to Prove Ourselves

Bristol Bay protections are closer, but there’s still work to be done

BY BJORN DIHLE

In July of last year, I was trying to work a damaged underwater camera for a film crew I was guiding on Chichagof Island in Southeast Alaska. Two skinny brown bears were squaring off over a fishing hole, which at best held one or two pink salmon, when a message beeped through my Garmin inReach. It was the second year in a row that no chum salmon had shown up in the streams I was working. Not so long ago they were thick. There were fewer pinks, too. In some streams, they were nearly nonexistent. The inReach message informed me that Bristol Bay’s 2021 sockeye run was a record-breaking 66 million fish.

In stark contrast to Bristol Bay, Southeast Alaska’s salmon are in rapid decline. In both, salmon are the backbone of the ecosystem.

In much of Alaska, Canada and the lower 48, wild salmon are dwindling. There’s a lot of debate over why, but most agree it’s a combination of changes in the ocean resulting from climate change, overfishing, competition with hatchery fish and habitat loss and pollution. Clearcut logging along salmon streams, contamination and industrial development in freshwater habitat doesn’t help either. There seems to be no general consensus or plan on what needs to be done to save wild salmon. A few retired Alaska Department of Fish and Game biologists I’d talked with about it were bitter, going so far as saying that the agency will “manage them to the last one” and that “they’ve done more harm than good.”

The department has given the OK to birth millions of salmon in metal hatchery bins, which are then sent into the ocean as compensation to the fishermen for the depletion of wild salmon. This

is in spite of the best-available science, which suggests that adding millions of hatchery-spawned fish to compete with wild fish for food in a changing ocean only exacerbates the problem.

The one place where wild salmon are still breaking records is Bristol Bay. It’s an enormous series of river systems that, for the most part, are still in the same pristine, undeveloped condition they were in hundreds of years ago. The bay is a place where ecology, economy and culture are so intertwined they’re inseparable. I’ve been lucky to experience many ecological wonders, but I can’t recall seeing anything on the same scale as Bristol Bay’s sockeye salmon run. The flood of salmon can almost be overwhelming, as can the commercial driftnet fishery, which French ocean explorer and conservationist Jacques Cousteau likened to sharks in a feeding frenzy.

More than half of the world’s sockeye population comes from the bay. Salmon support 15,000 jobs and the region’s $2.2 billion commercial fishing industry; the fishing, bear viewing and hunting generate hundreds of millions of dollars annually. A mind-blowing 75 million sockeye are predicted to head back to Bristol Bay during the 2022 season.

It’s wild to think that not so long ago bison once roamed the Great Plains on the same scale. Two hundred years ago, who would have guessed the bison’s population would be reduced to next to nothing – or that for the most part future generations would barely think about the ecological and cultural destruction and loss caused by their extermination?

It’s not hide hunters, cattle ranchers or railroad barons that threaten Bristol Bay; it’s the Pebble Mine – a massive mine proposed at the bay’s headwaters. Mining interests claim the Pebble

Photo: Chris Miller

More than half of the world’s sockeye population comes from the bay. Salmon support 15,000 jobs and the region’s $2.2 billion commercial fishing industry; the fishing, bear viewing and hunting generate hundreds of millions of dollars annually.

Deposit is one of the largest undeveloped resources of gold and copper in the world, estimating it to be worth around $500 billion. In 2001, the Canadian company Northern Dynasty Minerals purchased the rights to Pebble. Proponents say America needs gold, copper and other minerals and that we shouldn’t depend on other countries for them – many of which have little to no environmental protections. They ignore the fact that as soon as the foreign corporations that mine Alaska’s minerals get them out of the ground, the minerals are foreign-owned – and that those corporations can then ship them overseas for processing. Pebble, if built to its full capacity, would be the largest open-pit mine ever built in North America. It would create a footprint that would eventually engulf hundreds of miles of sensitive, currently pristine salmon habitat.

The Environmental Protection Agency, U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service and Army Corps of Engineers have all concluded Pebble would permanently damage Bristol Bay and its salmon runs.

BHA member and fishing and hunting guide Tia Shoemaker has been fighting tooth and nail against the proposed mine. Tia grew up on the tundra amidst rivers red with sockeye and has a deep connection to Bristol Bay and the Alaska Peninsula.

“Bristol Bay is one of the last great game fields and is home to the world’s densest population of brown bears. The entire food web is based on the salmon, as they truly are the lifeblood of the

area. Without them, the entire region’s ecosystem would collapse. Pebble will affect our hunting and fishing opportunities directly and indirectly, immediately and in perpetuity. Infrastructure, environmental degradation, toxic sludge-filled lakes, dams, flooding – the list goes on. There is still time to learn from our past mistakes. Bristol Bay is a chance to prove to ourselves that greed doesn’t outweigh our desire for wild places,” Shoemaker said.

Jacob Mannix, a lifelong Alaskan and BHA’s former Alaska chapter coordinator, couldn’t agree more.

“Protecting Bristol Bay isn’t only about following good science or protecting economies – it’s about standing up for our values and traditions. Future generations of hunters and anglers deserve places like Bristol Bay, and it’s our responsibility to pass it on to them,” Mannix said.

In 2011, six Bristol Bay tribes petitioned the EPA for permanent protections under Section 404(c) of the Clean Water Act. In 2014, the EPA agreed those protections were necessary, stating “the infrastructure necessary to mine the Pebble Deposit jeopardizes the long‐term health and sustainability of the Bristol Bay ecosystem.” They issued a 404(c) Proposed Determination, which warranted preemptive protections by denying the permits that would enable Pebble Mine to be developed – something that has been proposed only 30 times and completed only 13 times in the Clean Water Act’s 50-year history.

Photo: Chris Miller

That summer, I commercial fished Bristol Bay. It lived up to all the hype and then some. The closest thing the flood of salmon reminded me of was watching thousands of caribou move across the tundra. That much nonhuman life moving together seemed miraculous, especially in this day and age of pavement and electronic screens. Around 40 million sockeye returned in 2014 – only a little more than half of what’s predicted for 2022. There didn’t seem a place more deserving of protections to keep it healthy.

However, right after the EPA proposed protections, the Pebble Limited Partnership sued, preventing the agency from moving forward. In 2017, former Pebble CEO Tom Collier and former EPA Administrator Scott Pruitt had a closed-door meeting. Soon afterward, Pruitt announced he was withdrawing the EPA’s 2014 assessment and Proposed Determination. In 2019, the Army Corps of Engineers seemed on the verge of permitting the mine despite the fact more than 90% of Bristol Bay residents, two-thirds of Alaskans and hundreds of thousands of Americans voiced their opposition to Pebble during the 2019 public testimony period. It

all seemed too nuts too be true. Then, it got even wilder.

In September of 2020, the Environmental Investigation Agency released secret videotapes of Tom Collier and Northern Dynasty Minerals CEO Ronald Thiessen bragging to actors posing as investors that they had a direct line to the White House through Gov. Mike Dunleavy, a supporter of Pebble, and that Alaska’s two senators secretly supported the mine. A day later Collier resigned, and Alaska’s senators came out swinging in strong opposition to the mine. The tide had turned, and momentum was building for permanent protections to become a reality.

The Army Corps of Engineers denied Pebble’s permit in late November 2020, saying in its press release that “the applicant’s plan for the discharge of fill material does not comply with Clean Water Act guidelines,” and “the proposed project is contrary to the public interest.” A year later, after a lawsuit from multiple partners and an appeal from Trout Unlimited, the United States District Court for the State of Alaska overturned the EPA’s 2019 decision to withdraw protections.

This May, after a long wait, the EPA again proposed protections for the watershed based on updated science. The agency’s revised determination will prohibit discharge of dredged or fill material associated with mining at the Pebble Deposit.

“The Bristol Bay watershed is a shining example of how our nation’s waters are essential to healthy communities, vibrant ecosystems and a thriving economy,” EPA Administrator Michael S. Regan was quoted as saying in the agency’s press release. “EPA is committed to following the science, the law and a transparent public process to determine what is needed to ensure that this irreplaceable and invaluable resource is protected for current and future generations,” it stated.

Bristol Bay residents, fishermen and Native American tribes, as well as citizens across Alaska and North America, came out in force to support the immediate finalizing of these proposed protections – and then, as a second step, permanently protecting Bristol Bay’s fisheries and watersheds from other potential largescale mining projects via legislation.

“Two decades of living under the shadow of this potential massive mine and toxic waste dump is enough,” said Tim Bristol, ex-

“Bristol Bay is a chance to prove to ourselves that greed doesn’t outweigh our desire for wild places.”

-Tia shoemaker

Photo: Chris Miller

Photo courtesy Tia Shoemaker

ecutive director of SalmonState and a BHA member. “It’s time for the EPA to listen to Alaskans and to finish the job of protecting this one-of-a-kind American treasure.”

Alannah Hurley is a Yup’ik fisherwoman and the executive director of United Tribes of Bristol Bay. A lifelong resident of Bristol Bay, she’s fought tirelessly to protect her homeland.

“As stewards of these lands and waters since time immemorial, the people of Bristol Bay need permanent protections for our waters and way of life. There are years of scientific study and millions of public comments in support of protecting our watershed from a mine like Pebble,” Hurley said. “It is time for the EPA to finalize safeguards that truly protect the headwaters of our fishery so that our future generations are not going to have to fight these same battles.”

The EPA’s announcement is a step in the right direction, but the fight is far from over. There’s hope the agency will finalize Clean Water Act protections this year by vetoing the permits once and for all. But if it doesn’t happen during President Joe Biden’s term, the next administration might stall or even reverse course again. Finalizing protections for Bristol Bay is something that needs to be done now.

I think back to last fall and how after being away working with brown bears for four months, I hustled to put venison and salmon in the freezer. My brothers had given my family a fair amount of sockeye and king salmon, and I rounded out our fish by catching some coho. My two-and-a-half-year-old son helped me prepare a load for the smoker. He’s obsessed with salmon, just as I was when

I was his age. That evening, as I loaded the smoker’s pan with a last load of alder chips, I came to the unsettling realization that every salmon in my freezer was a hatchery fish.

In contrast, there isn’t a single hatchery in Bristol Bay. Instead, there’s pristine habitat, a diverse system composed of lakes, rivers and tiny streams – and a mass migration of animals unlike anything that still exists on the planet. My son “helped” rotate trays of salmon before asking me to tell him a story about salmon. I thought about how just 10 years ago schools of wild salmon darkened the coastline near our home. Instead, I told him a Bristol Bay story: how seemingly infinite schools of salmon turn rivers and lakes red like blood as they gift the land, people and animals their flesh and spawn. The future is uncertain, but one thing I know for sure is that we need to fight like hell to protect places like Bristol Bay.

Bjorn Dihle is a BHA member and a lifelong Southeast Alaskan. He most recently authored “A Shape in the Dark: Living and Dying with Brown Bears.”

Photo: Chris Miller

I TOLD HIM A BRISTOL BAY STORY: HOW SEEMINGLY INFINITE SCHOOLS OF SALMON TURN RIVERS AND LAKES RED LIKE BLOOD AS THEY GIFT THE LAND, PEOPLE AND ANIMALS THEIR FLESH AND SPAWN.

Photo: Ben Herndon

NORTH AMERICAN GRASSLANDS CONSERVATION ACT INTRODUCED

Wyden (D-OR), the North American Grasslands Conservation Act, would authorize the investment of $290 million annually in grants to incentivize the voluntary conservation of grasslands and the sagebrush steppe, among the most valuable – and most threatened – ecosystems in North America.

Relied upon by sportsmen and women, landowners, tribal nations and rural communities, grasslands and sagebrush landscapes are critical to a range of wildlife species, including mule deer, pronghorn and bison as well as upland birds like bobwhite quail. Yet the future of these resources is uncertain; 50 million acres of grassland habitat have been lost in the last decade. Consequently, the bill would create the first-ever North American grassland conservation strategy for their protection and enhancement, drawing from and coordinating existing regional conservation plans and frameworks including Tribal Conservation Plans, National Resources Conservation Service’s Working Lands for Wildlife framework and State Wildlife Action Plans.

Backcountry Hunters & Anglers is working in partnership with a broad coalition of organizations to advance the legislation. BHA President and CEO Land Tawney welcomed the bill’s introduction, highlighting its potential impact to places and species cherished by sportsmen and women.

“When we get this bill across the finish line, the implications for grasslands and the sage steppe will be tremendous,” said

North American Wetlands Conservation Act, or NAWCA, for evidence. Since its passage in 1989, NAWCA has been responsible for the conservation of more than 30 million acres of wetlands, benefiting waterfowl, fisheries and hunters and anglers. This new legislation would give us the tools to conserve grasslands in the same way.

“Together we have the power to create an indelible legacy for our nation’s grasslands habitat, the wildlife that relies on it, and our outdoor traditions,” Tawney continued. “BHA is proud to stand side by side with so many of our partners in conservation in support of this effort, and we thank Senator Wyden and other foresighted Senate leaders for their determined efforts to advance the North American Grasslands Conservation Act. We have much to do to complete our work here, and this was a great step in that direction.”

In addition to BHA, conservation organizations including Pheasants Forever and Quail Forever, Theodore Roosevelt Conservation Partnership, National Wildlife Federation, North American Grouse Partnership, World Wildlife Fund, Izaak Walton League of America, Wildlife Mississippi, National Deer Association, Land Trust Alliance, Native American Fish and Wildlife Society, National Bobwhite Conservation Initiative, American Bird Conservancy and the Buffalo Nations Grasslands Alliance have promoted this effort since 2020.

LATEST ON THE PODCAST & BLAST

In episode 133 of BHA’s Podcast & Blast, Hal Herring talks with BLM Director Tracy Stone-Manning about the present and future of Bureau of Land Management lands - and how we can create a future in which politics is no longer the major obstacle to keeping them in public lands.

And in a couple of live podcasts recorded at BHA’s 2022 Rendezvous, Hal sits down with North American Board Member Ryan Callaghan and Liz Lynch and Jared Oakleaf of the Wyoming chapter to talk

about corner crossing, and then he’s joined by Eric Crawford, North Idaho field coordinator for Trout Unlimited; Sam Mace, a fisheries expert who has worked with Save Our Wild Salmon; and Josh Mills, BHA development coordinator and board member of the Wild Steelhead Coalition, to talk about Snake River dams, and how the removal of four outdated and failing dams on the lower Snake River will restore the passage of millions of salmon and steelhead upstream into 5,500 square miles of the most intact, coldwater spawning and rearing habitat in North America (almost all of it public land).

Check out these episodes and more from the Podcast & Blast wherever you get your podcasts!

BRITTANY PARKER Conservation Stewardship Coordinator

Brittany was born and raised in Rifle, Colorado, and currently lives in Gypsum. She began fishing with her dad when she was old enough to hold a rod and spent most of her childhood camping and fishing. It wasn’t until later in life that she found hunting. She fell in love with the connection she felt to nature from romping around in the Colorado Rockies, carrying her bow and looking for critters.

Previously, Brittany started a business teaching whitewater stand up paddling and river surfing.

Her love of the outdoors inspired her to go back to school where she is pursuing her undergrad in sustainability studies. Before becoming BHA’s new Conservation Stewardship Coordinator, Brittany volunteered as a chapter leader and worked in river restoration. She’s excited to continue her mission of giving as much, if not more, back to our public lands, waters and wildlife as they have given to her.

2023 AWARD NOMINATION PORTAL

Do you know an individual who deserves to be recognized for their outstanding contributions to conservation or our organization? This is your chance to help us honor their work with one of our 2023 awards! Award recipients are announced annually at the North American Rendezvous, set for Mar. 16-18, 2023, in Missoula, Montana!

More information can be found and nominations can be made at backcountryhunters.org/2023_bha_awards_nomination_portal

R3 WORKSHOPS

In July, BHA and Hunters of Color hosted a free, all-inclusive, twoday workshop in Portland for those who wanted to learn more about hunting, wild food and the conservation community.

More Explore Hunting workshops

took place this summer and fall in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, and in New York City. More at backcountryhunters.org/explore_hunting

AIDAN LONG SCHOLARSHIP RECIPIENTS

Three young outdoorspeople will have help getting outdoors thanks to scholarships provided by Backcountry Hunters & Anglers’ Aidan Long Outdoors for All scholarship.

Established in early 2022, BHA’s Outdoors for All scholarship assists young people with disabilities access outdoors experiences by providing adaptive equipment or outdoor education. The scholarship, open to anyone ages 10-20, mitigates the expense of outdoor recreation and conservation education and expands experiences and opportunities for people with disabilities.

The 2022 awardees include the following:

• a young paddler from Idaho who is using Outdoors for All scholarship funds to purchase a tandem kayak so he can paddle with his parents

• a senior in high school from British Columbia who was able to access trails this summer thanks to her new tandem bicycle purchased with scholarship funds

• an enthusiastic aspiring outdoorsman from Idaho who was able to spend his first night camping in a tent far away from home thanks to a solar powered battery charger for his ventilator

The Outdoors for All scholarship was established through a generous donation by MeatEater and friends and family of Aidan Long. In the months following its formation, it generated more than $30,000 in funds. In 2022, a total of $2,000 was disbursed. Scholarship recipients are awarded $500-$1,000 each.

Applications for 2023 scholarships will be accepted from Oct. 1, 2022-Jan. 30, 2023.

Email submissions to admin@backcountryhunters.org, subject: Aidan Long/Outdoors For All Scholarship applicant.

Applications, written or video, should include the following: name, age, location, activity or gear you would like the scholarship to be applied to, articulation of financial burden, if any (not required), what is motivating the young person to participate in the outdoors, what being outdoors means to them, and how it makes them feel.

BHA’s North American Board of Directors will choose the recipients, and scholarship winners will be notified February 2023.

Aidan and Ben Long

Project Aspen

Our shared land. Our responsibility.

Our public lands, waters and wildlife need your support!

We at BHA are in the middle of year two, the final year, of Project Aspen, a fundraising campaign for our newly established endowment. We were awarded $350,000 in January of 2021 as a part of this endowment investment portfolio. The only catch is that we need to raise matching funds to realize the awarded money. With three months remaining we still have $130,000 left to go!

Our endowment will be a source of perpetual funding for BHA’s work on behalf of all we care about so deeply. It will fuel and empower this and future generations to continue what we have started.

Every dollar you invest in Backcountry Hunters & Anglers today is immediately doubled. We put to work $2 for every $1 invested, and these funds will advance our mission in perpetuity.

Please consider donating today, and plan to include Project Aspen in your year-end giving. We have until Dec. 15 to create a real lasting legacy for our work. Every dollar matters.

GRAHAME JONES

WHY ARE YOU A BHA MEMBER?

I first became aware of BHA while I was still working for Texas Parks and Wildlife Departments and was very impressed after hearing from some members who testified during one of its commission meetings. After the meeting, I spoke to the members and immediately noticed their energy, drive and commitment regarding their advocacy for public lands and waters. After researching the organization, it seemed like a natural fit and something that I wanted to become more involved in.

AS A RETIRED TEXAS GAME WARDEN, IS THERE A MOMENT FROM YOUR CAREER THAT YOU’RE PARTICULARLY PROUD OF?

I am proud to have worked with – and for – some of the most dedicated conservationists I have ever known. Conservation is all about networks and relationships, and working with partner conservation organizations, user groups, government agencies, the public, volunteers, landowners, etc. The glue that keeps it all together are the dedicated employees at TPWD. I would say that I am most proud of the day, back in 1993, when I became a Texas Game Warden and my parents, sister and brother were there to see the badge pinned on my chest.

HOW CAN THE AVERAGE HUNTER OR ANGLER CONTRIBUTE TO DEFENDING OUR PUBLIC LAND TRUST?

Public lands and waters are extremely important. It was once good enough to just buy a hunting or fishing license. Most of those funds go back to conservation is some way. But now, just purchasing a license isn’t enough, and people need to get involved. One of the simplest and most effective ways to contribute is during public land and water cleanup projects or habitat improvement projects. The bottom line is that we “own” our public lands and waters; therefore, we need to be stewards as well. Also, remember, there is strength in numbers, and membership in worthwhile conservation organizations – like BHA – matter to those who make the rules. The more members and more involved people and organizations are, the louder or stronger the voice.

TEXAS IS WELL KNOWN FOR NOT HAVING A HIGH PERCENTAGE OF PUBLIC LAND. WHY DOES THAT MAKE THE TEXAS CHAPTER OF BHA’S WORK SO IMPORTANT?

In Texas, most of the land is privately owned, and landowners are extremely important to the conservation landscape in Texas. However, Texas also has some of the most publicly accessible water in the country, as well as very diverse public land hunting opportunities throughout the state. For example, most of the duck hunting in Texas occurs on public lands and waters. It is extremely important that we view these public lands and waters as the incredible gifts they are. I have the utmost respect for private landowners and fully recognize their role in Texas, but public land and those who utilize public lands have a big role, too, and with that role comes responsibility.

WHAT IS YOUR PERFECT DAY ON PUBLIC LANDS AND WATERS?

For me, a perfect day on public lands and waters would be sight casting a fly for redfish in the marsh and backcountry lakes close to Port O’Connor or Rockport. The silence of a poling skiff, watching the sunrise, and observing some of Texas’ incredible beauty with a good friend or two is hard to beat.

I would like to add how thankful I am to serve alongside an incredible volunteer board. Our Texas chapter board members, just like other chapter boards, are extremely dedicated, motivated and hardworking. Simply put, we could not accomplish our mission without our board and volunteers.

AUSTIN, TEXAS Texas Chapter Chair, retired Texas Game Warden

Photos courtesy Grahame Jones

Angler: Celia Matz, daughter of Mike Matz, BHA life member | Species: Arctic grayling | State: Alaska |

Method: fly | Distance from nearest road: one mile |

Transportation: foot

BACKCOUNTRY BOUNTY

Hunter: Lindsey Yundt, BHA member

Species: dusky grouse | State: Idaho | Method: bow | Distance from nearest road: two miles | Transportation: foot

Hunter: Bill Hanlon, BHA North American Board and life member

Species: Stone’s Sheep | Province: British Columbia | Method: BHA life membership Weatherby rifle | Distance from nearest road: 75 kilometers | Transportation: packstring

Hunter: Josh Baklund, BHA member

Species: mallards | State: North Dakota | Method: shotgun

Distance from nearest road: one mile

Transportation: boat, foot

Hunter: Brian Nance, BHA member

Species: whitetail | State: Iowa

Method: rifle

Distance from nearest road: one mile

Transportation: foot

“BHA has motivated me to step out of my comfort zone while hunting and fishing, and this year it has paid off.”

Hunter: Adam Rietz, BHA member | Species: moose State: Alaska | Method: rifle | Distance from nearest road: 75 miles | Transportation: boat

Hunter: Scott Spicer, BHA member

Species: whitetail | State: Tennessee

Method: muzzleloader

Distance from nearest road: two miles

Transportation: boat, foot

Email your Backcountry Bounty submissions to williams@ backcountryhunters.org or share your photos with us by using #backcountryhuntersandanglers on social media! Emailed bounty submissions may also appear on social media.

All purpose. With purpose.

e Contact System

This is our workhorse, the ideal do-it-all option for most hunters. With each design decision, we sought the perfect balance: a shell that provides rugged protection without sacrificing flexibility; a true stealth fleece that’s still lightweight and breathable; all the technical details you want without the extras you don’t. Available as a jacket, vest, hoodie, and pants.

An Opening day tale

BY LEYTON HANNEMAN AND MATT HANNEMAN

’Twas the night before hunting, when all through the woods, The creatures were stirring and there the bull stood. Our packs were all readied and quivers fitted with care; As we prayed that the moose would wait for us there. The calves and the fawns were all snug in their beds, While visions of rump roast danced in our heads. We arose before dawn and crept into the woods. To call in this big moose was our goal, if we could. Setting a blind, prepared for the long haul, We settled in and began to cow call. Then out from the bush there arose a loud crash, I sprang from my seat and grabbed my bow in a flash. Binos raised to my face, I started to glass; I scanned the horizon and searched the tall grass. The sun on the breadth of the frosty landscape Gave the lustre of dim morn as the forest took shape. When what to my wondering gaze should arise, But a monster bull moose, a rack sixty inch wide. With a grunt and a snort he advanced on us quick, So I fitted my bowstring with a razor-tipped stick. Antlers swaying and thrashing, he stepped within range; My bow at full draw, adrenaline coursed through my veins. The pin settled in, the bowstring sang, the arrow was flung; And hitting its mark, into his chest it did plunge. His last moments at hand, the bull charged though the trees; And with a final loud crash, he fell to his knees. Now before you think this ending is sad; His life was a gift, to become food, so be glad. So the circle of life once more goes around, And to the Lord our thanks and praise will abound.

BHA member Matt Hanneman has been bowhunting since he was 14 years old when he arrowed his first bull moose. His passion for hunting and the outdoors drove him to study environmental biology and work in the conservation field for over a decade. Matt also passed on his passion to his son, Leyton, at an early age by bringing him along on his hunting trips and backpacking adventures.

Leyton Hanneman has also become an avid bowhunter and arrowed his first bull moose at 15 years of age.

Leyton and Matt wrote this short poem written in the cadence of “A Visit from St. Nicholas,” by Clement Clarke Moore, inspired both by the excitement of the night before a big hunt, like how a kid feels on Christmas eve, and their love of bowhunting for moose. The Hannemans live in Strathcona County, Alberta, Canada.

Leyton Hanneman with his first moose, shot with a bow in 2021 at 15 years old.

Matt Hanneman with his first moose, shot with a bow in 1994 at 14 years old.

MOUNTAIN TOP MOTORS

BUY-BUILD-CUSTOMIZE

–FINANCE YOUR BUILD INTO YOUR TRUCK LOAN (WAC)

–LIFTS – ROOFTOP TENTS – ROD VAULTS – SOLAR SETUPS

–OVERLANDING – WHEELS – TIRES

–SELLING THE CLEANEST TRUCKS

–2500S – 3500S – DUALLYS – WORK TRUCKS

–HUNTER AND FISHERMAN OWNED

–REPUTATION IS EVERYTHING

Standing up for shoreline access

BY MICHAEL WOODS

I’ve always loved the beach. Some of my most memorable outdoor experiences as a youth involved fishing for striped bass from the sandy shores of Cape Cod. As time passed, I discovered new and intriguing shoreline pursuits for all seasons of the year. Clamming in the spring, crabbing in the summer, fishing the striper run in autumn and hunting waterfowl and whitetails in the winter are just a few of the activities that keep me coming back to New England’s shores. Easy access to miles of sandy beaches, rocky cliffs and tidal ponds are among the many reasons I choose to reside in Rhode Island, the Ocean State.

Access to the shore and the waters beyond has always been a top priority for Rhode Islanders. The right to fish from the shore was important enough that colonists ensured it was included in the state’s founding document, the Rhode Island Royal Charter of 1663. Nearly 200 years later, when Rhode Island drafted its first constitution, the rights of the fishery and the “privileges of the shore” were enshrined in Article 1, Section 17, and they have resided there, protected, ever since.

nuanced topic. The U.S. Supreme Court case Martin v. Waddell (1842) set the trajectory for how our government handles public trust resources, finding that the people themselves became sovereign at the time of the American Revolution, and resources like navigable waters, wildlife, submerged lands and their shores were entrusted to each state to manage on behalf of its people.

Across North America the boundary between uplands and tidelands occupies a fascinating niche within the greater public access conversation

The Supreme Court continued its interpretation in decisions like Pollard v. Hagen (1845), Hardin v. Jordan (1891), Illinois Central Railroad Co. v. Illinois (1892) and Borax Consolidated v. Los Angeles (1935). Because it is an issue of state sovereignty, the federal courts have deliberately limited their influence over our shores, and so we find ourselves with 24 different sets of standards, definitions and boundaries – one for each coastal state. If that is not complicated enough, several states also protect specific rights independent of property boundaries, like “fishing, fowling and navigation” in Massachusetts and the riparian proprietors’ right to “wharf out” into navigable public trust waters. The only conclusion one can really make is that every state is different, sometimes significantly, and it will always be that way.

Even constitutionally protected rights can be challenged, though, and Rhode Islanders’ shoreline rights were called into question most recently in 2019, when an individual was arrested for trespassing at the urging of a private security guard because he committed the simple act of being on the beach below a waterfront home. The arrest was dismissed within the week, but it brought new attention to an issue Rhode Islanders have debated, argued over, challenged legally and fought to protect for generations.

Across North America the boundary between uplands and tidelands occupies a fascinating niche within the greater public access conversation, and it can be a complicated and legally

Following the shoreline arrest in 2019, Rhode Island’s policymakers and advocates recognized that our current standards needed further attention. The public looked towards the Rhode Island Constitution as a legal basis for their presence on the shore, but its language lacked clarity on where, exactly, enumerated rights were protected. Upland proprietors looked to the Rhode Island Supreme Court beach trespassing case State v. Ibbison (1982), which overturned Rhode Island’s historical “high water mark” in favor of the much lower “mean high tide line” as the property boundary between uplands and tidelands. Because the mean high tide line is an 18.6-year average of tidal elevations projected on a dynamic shoreline, it is neither fixed nor observable, and as

Photo: Michael Woods

a result no Rhode Island court had ever, including in Ibbison, been able to find the accused guilty of trespassing on the beach. Neither side’s rights were secure under current standards, and so a compromise was needed.

Following the 2021 legislative session, the Rhode Island House of Representatives convened a study commission to explore such a compromise. Appointed by the house speaker, the commission was populated by representatives from both sides of the issue, as well as legal and scientific experts. While Backcountry Hunters & Anglers is not a formal commission member, we were able to deliver testimony on two separate occasions, and our message was clear – we need an observable boundary that defines where shoreline privileges “heretofore entitled under the charter and usages of the state” are protected and provide reasonable access for all to enjoy. Given our strong historical basis for shoreline access, isn’t that what Rhode Islanders are entitled to?

Ultimately the commission agreed and in March 2022 reported its findings to the full Rhode Island House of Representatives. The commission’s leaders, Rep. Terri Cortvriend (D-72) and Rep. Blake Filippi (R-36), also introduced Rhode Island House Bill 8055, which made the commission’s recommendation actionable. In simple terms, their bill proposed that constitutional shoreline privileges be protected up to six feet inland of the most recent high tide line that was observable by the wash of seaweed, and that the property boundary remain at the mean high tide line. Rhode Islanders would not get back the strip of land lost due to Ibbison re-defining the property boundary, but if passed shoreline rights would be protected to their historical extent.

H8055 was widely supported and passed the state House Judiciary Committee in May and the full House by a unanimous

vote in early June. But it also drew scrutiny from opponents who claimed that it would take their property without just compensation. Of course, the Study Commission had considered such challenges and deliberately avoided relocating the Ibbison property boundary for this reason. Additionally, under the status quo, the “right to exclude” that which can be considered property has proven to be unenforceable due to the dynamic, unknowable nature of the mean high tide line. Setting logic aside, the threat of lawsuits and takings claims was enough to deter the state Senate leadership from considering the issue in the short time that remained following the House’s passage and before the 2022 session adjourned in late June.

So for now the age-old debate over Rhode Island’s shores will continue without clear guidance from the state’s General Assembly. Following this year’s elections, we’ll have a new class of representatives and senators to work with, momentum to carry forward from last year’s House passage and a growing coalition of shoreline access supporters. And Backcountry Hunters & Anglers members will continue to be involved, working to ensure our right to access Rhode Island’s shore is secured for the benefit of all.

Michael Woods is a hunter, angler, outdoorsman and public trust advocate from Saunderstown, Rhode Island. Since 2020, he has served as the chair of BHA’s New England chapter board. He received BHA’s Jim Posewitz Award for leadership in promoting ethical, responsible behavior in the hunting and fishing fields by example, leadership and education at BHA’s 2022 North American Rendezvous in Missoula, Montana.

Photo: Michael Woods

BHA Members Roll Up Their Sleeves

BY TIM BRASS

It is our sense of duty to reinvest in the wild places that provide the sense of awe, inspiration and renewal that drives many of us to volunteer with conservation organizations like Backcountry Hunters & Anglers. We recognize that intact tracts of healthy fish and wildlife habitat are what sustains our game populations –and that our abundant hunting and fishing opportunities are not something we can afford to take for granted.

This is why time and time again, BHA members have rolled up our sleeves to help conserve and restore the publicly accessible ridges and creeks we enjoy – from BHA’s founders working to curtail habitat degradation from illegal motorized use in Oregon in 2009 to members from across North America uniting to pack out more than 4,400 bags of waste from our public lands and waters last fall. Habitat stewardship work has always been core to BHA’s work and mission, and now we’re doing more than ever. Every year our annual membership survey shows we have thousands of BHA members interested in volunteering on stewardship projects.

Today, thanks to significant contributions from dedicated BHA volunteer leaders and staff, as well as dedicated public land management agency staff, we have substantially expanded our stewardship work at a scale and level of impact that is making a real difference. Here’s a glimpse at what these burgeoning partnerships have looked like thus far:

• National Fish and Wildlife Foundation – BHA’s partnership with NFWF recently grew with funding awarded for wildlife habitat improvement projects on public lands in California and Colorado. In California, we will undertake a restoration initiative for habitat and fire-scarred lands in the Hallelujah Junction Wildlife Area, a critical winter range for mule deer and a premium deer hunting zone that burned in several recent wildfires. This work will be implemented in coordination with Nevada Department of Wildlife and California Department of Fish & Wildlife, various NGOs, the Washoe Tribe and Sagebrush in Prisons Project, run through the Federal Correctional Institution. In Colorado, a new, dedicated full-time Colorado stewardship coordinator will work directly with volunteers and partners to remove 30-40 miles of obsolete fencing on public lands, which is currently serving as a barrier to wildlife migration within the winter range of North America’s largest elk herd.

• Bureau of Land Management – BHA and our chapter leaders are building on a successful 2021-2022 partnership with BLM and their wildlife division staff to successfully carry out 17 new volunteer-supported wildlife habitat restoration work projects across the West, ranging from restoring habitat degraded by illegal motorized use in Alaska to adding markers to nearly 50 miles of fence in Oregon to minimize sage grouse fence collisions.

• National Forest Foundation – In 2020, NFF contributed funding to support implementation of BHA’s fence removal/

“Acts of creation are ordinarily reserved for gods and poets, but humbler folk may circumvent this restriction if they know how. To plant a pine, for example, one need be neither god nor poet; one need only own a good shovel.”

– Aldo Leopold, Sand County Almanac

modification project on the Kiowa National Grassland in New Mexico through which volunteers helped improve habitat for pronghorn by improving 29 miles of fencelines on public land. This funding also included support for an ongoing project in the Frank Church River of No Return Wilderness in Idaho, where BHA staff, volunteers and contractors have effectively cleared and re-opened miles of previously inaccessible trails deep within the wilderness.

• State fish and wildlife agencies – From timber-stand improvement and brush-clearing projects on the El Dorado Wildlife Area in Kansas to cleanup events at the Deer Creek State Wildlife Area in Ohio, BHA chapters have continued to build on existing partnerships with state agencies through a wide range of stewardship projects.

These are just a few of the many ways BHA chapters have been working to build on existing partnerships with our public land managers across North America. And the opportunities to do more for your public lands are endless. To grab a shovel and get involved in a stewardship project near you, check out BHA’s event page at backcountryhunters.org/events or, if you have a public land project in mind that you would like to help organize, drop your chapter a note at admin@backcountryhunters.org

Tim Brass is BHA’s state policy & field operations director and lives in Longmont, Colorado, with his wife, Megan, and their 6-year-old daughter, Linden.

Idaho chapter members clear trail in the Frank Church River of No Return Wilderness with help from grant funds, courtesy of the Idaho Fish and Game and the National Forest Foundation. Photos: Ace Hess.

AD1104798_S22_BHA_PFG_AD_3.5x4.75.indd - AD1104834 Trim: 3.5” x 4.75”

Chapter News & Updates

ALBERTA

• The chapter hosted its 2nd Annual Rendezvous at Alford Lake Conservation Center, July 29-31 – members from across the province came to take workshops, fish, paddle, shoot guns and bows, cook wild game and eat together.

• The chapter held a workshop on indigenizing the North American Model of Wildlife Conservation, featuring Mateen Hessami.

• We continue to press the provincial government on the Coal Policy to protect the Eastern Slopes, as well as to repair hundreds of miles of disturbances created during exploration activities.

• The chapter organized a spot and stalk bear hunt in Northern Alberta with active and veteran members of the Canadian Armed Forces through the Armed Forces Initiative.

ARIZONA

• The Arizona chapter was recently recognized by the Arizona Wildlife Federation as Conservation Organization Partner of the Year for outstanding organizational contributions to wildlife conservation and public lands advocacy.

• Zackory Berft has joined the Arizona team as the Region 2 director.

• The chapter continues to stand with our conservation partner organizations to help protect the Grand Canyon and surrounding areas by working to advance the Grand Canyon Protection Act.

ARMED FORCES INITIATIVE

• The Armed Forces Initiative career event, a six-part series focused on helping veterans and transitioning service members find career options in the outdoor industry, was a huge success!

• The turkey camp in Montana in May was a successful in identifying new AFI leaders across North America, and a few birds were even harvested.

• AFI was honored as one of six outdoor industry entities selected by Veterans Affairs to provide additional comments and conduct interviews for the Accelerating Veterans Recovery Outdoors Act and Veterans Compact Bill that the VA is executing.

BRITISH COLUMBIA

• The chapter responded to controversial changes to moose and caribou hunting regulations in Region 7B by engaging government and elected officials to express opposition and seek reasoning behind the decision and why designated consultation processes weren’t used.

• BC chapter leadership met in Kelowna in June for a strategic planning session.

• Members are engaging across the province with public land cleanups, pint nights, mentorship hunts, a camera trapping research project and a fly casting course.

CALIFORNIA

• The chapter held its first work party dedicated to the restoration of Hallelujah Junction Wildlife Area. Volunteers collected bitterbrush seeds for propagation and worked with a Washoe Tribe representative to identify culturally significant flora.

• Held events including pier fishing and a conservation trivia day, deer biology webinar with CDFW, sheep surveying with partner organizations, restoration of wildlife-friendly fencing with BLM and pint nights in Mammoth and L.A.

• Commented in support of a petition to restore historic fishing access to Surf Beach, located within the Vandenberg Space Force Base.

CAPITAL REGION

• The Capital chapter donated $1,500 to become a sponsor for the 6th Annual Old Dominion One Shot Turkey Hunt in Virginia.

• Teamed up with some great local and national sponsors to host the 2022 Muster in the Mountains and Conservation Dinner & Auction.

• The Capital chapter signed alongside other BHA chapters to support necessary comment changes for Amendment 7 of the Atlantic Striped Bass Interstate Fishery Management Plan.

COLLEGIATE PROGRAM

• We awarded our third year of the scholarship at the University of Louisville to Angela Zuniga. Angela is a transfer student pursuing her bachelor’s degree in political science and law in public policy. She will work with Col. Mike Abell and the rest of the Kentucky BHA crew over the next year to complete work on public lands and waters in order to receive the full extent of her scholarship.

COLORADO

• Chapter Co-Chair Don Holmstrom is leading the stream access initiative and was interviewed by the New York Times regarding the Hill v. Warsewa case, which is set to be heard by the Colorado Supreme Court.

• New leaders: Bryan Gwinn (sssistant legislative liaison); Blake Mamich (Southwest Colo. assistant regional director); Chris Parmeter (Gunnison Valley group ARD); Phil Armstrong (Roaring Fork/Eagle Valleys group ARD). ARD Brittany Parker is BHA’s new stewardship coordinator.

• The chapter held its 13th annual Rendezvous in the San Isabel National Forest west of Salida.

FLORIDA

• The Florida chapter hosted its first youth archery workshop and 3D tournament in Delray Beach, with the support of grant funding from the Fish & Wildlife Foundation of Florida.

• The chapter hosted its second annual scouting workshop in Jupiter, with around 75 attendees, focused on identifying game sign and teaching folks, either new to hunting or new to Florida, how deer and hogs move through South Florida’s wetland and upland habitats.

• The Florida chapter will be bringing back its annual series of small game hunts across the state and will announce dates soon.

GEORGIA

• The Georgia chapter has been busy trying to persuade the state to protect Pine Log Wildlife Management Area, a more than 14,000-acre property that is currently for sale.

• The chapter is also starting a river access awareness campaign highlighting some of the restrictive aspects of the Georgia law.

IDAHO

• Staff and volunteers with the Idaho chapter worked with outfitters in the Frank Church-River of No Return Wilderness to clear 16 miles of remote trail. The crew flew into a dirt airstrip and were supported by pack stock, covering over 40 miles on foot.

• Volunteers with the chapter have been busy hosting events this summer, including Idaho’s first AFI pint night, film fests and a fish fest.

• The chapter is coordinating efforts with volunteers and mentors to hold its Learn to Hunt program beginning in late summer. This popular program introduces new hunters to many important aspects of hunting and includes valuable time in the field with experienced folks.

ILLINOIS

• The Illinois chapter attended Scholastic 3-D Archery state and national archery shoots at Rend Lake this summer in support of conservation and introducing young archers to hunting.

• Illinois river access continues to be a challenge with an unfavorable ruling from the Illinois State Supreme Court. The chapter will continue to stay engaged and recommend members continue to speak their legislators about expanding public access.

• Thank you to all its members for engagement through pint nights, Hike to Hunt and clean-up events, and wishes members the best of luck this fall on whatever public lands they roam.

INDIANA

• Indiana chapter members were very busy assisting the Indiana DNR through the Blue Grass FWA Spring Cleanup and organizing two trash pickups – one at Tri-County FWA and one at Crosley FWA. This work has totaled over 100 volunteer hours.

• Sportsman’s Warehouse Indianapolis is now a proud sponsor of the Indiana chapter.

IOWA

• The chapter hosted its first annual Iowa Chapter Rendezvous in Des Moines as an opportunity for members to gather in support of public land and water with activities, seminars and prizes for members.

• Raised money for the Ida County Conservation Board’s acquisition of a new parcel of public land in a county with very little access.

• The chapter collaborated with the Iowa DNR to host a virtual and in-person “Learn to Dove Hunt” class as a part of ongoing R3 efforts.

KANSAS

• In June, the Kansas chapter held a sporting clays event at LaSada Lodge in Russell, Kansas.

• In July, the chapter participated in a clean-up project at Louisburg Middle Creek State Fishing Lake.

• In August, the Kansas chapter held pint nights in Manhattan and Dodge City and a sporting clays event at Michael Murphy & Sons in Augusta, Kansas.

KENTUCKY

• The Kentucky chapter in May held its first public archery event at Hisle Farm Park in Lexington.

• In June, the chapter annual tabled at a Bluegrass Trout Unlimited fly casting event at West Sixth Farm Brewery in Frankfort.

• In July, members tabled at GoWild’s Send It Slam outdoor festival in Louisville. Also in July, the chapter hosted its annual in-person board meeting – where refreshingly great reinvigoration of our chapter was had by all.

MICHIGAN

• Jeff Lipple and Jordan Browne put together an ice fishing contest, which had a bunch of entries and included a lot of fun!

• Lipple and Browne also spearheaded a Tines and Trash event, which had participants cleaning up public lands while hunting for whitetail antler sheds.

• Austin Motte will again be organizing a cleanup of the Boardman River. In the past this has been a great event that gets a lot of involvement and attention.

MINNESOTA

• The Minnesota chapter held pint nights at Bemidji Brewing, Island City Brewing Company and Urban Growler Brewing.

• The chapter also had a booth at the South 40 archery range and the Minnesota Game Fair!

• While legislators were on break, the BHA team compiled resources for understanding Minnesota land and water access rules and requirements for posting lands for no trespassing. These resources will be available in August on BHA’s Minnesota chapter webpage and as business card sized pocket guides!

MISSOURI

• The Missouri chapter participated at Dive Bomb Industries’ SquadFest in St. Louis and gained a lot of new members and relationships in the waterfowl community!

• The Missouri chapter wrapped up its annual MoBHA Summer Archery Nights tour with several stops all across Missouri.

• Members participated in several public land cleanups the chapter organized across the state in September.

MONTANA

• The chapter filed to intervene to oppose a lawsuit attacking Montana’s elk hunting heritage.

• Recognized as Chapter of the Month for defending fair-chase pheasant hunting, supporting anti-poaching efforts, calling for increased protections for cold-water fisheries, advocating for the purchase of a 5,677-acre wildlife management area, improving trails, pulling unnecessary fencing and cleaning up multiple fishing access sites and a recreational shooting area.

• The chapter would like to thank outgoing board members Tom Healy, Molly VandeVoort, Paul Kemper and Bill Spahr, and welcome Aaron Agosto, Tyler Nickolisen and Anne Jolliff!

NEVADA

• The Nevada chapter hosted a Backpack Hunting 101 clinic, and attendees learned about proper gear selection, tactics, meals and more.

• Volunteers from the Nevada chapter worked on a habitat restoration project the California chapter organized at the Hallelujah Junction Wildlife Management Area. Bitterbrush seed was collected as part of the first steps of a long-term restoration project in critical mule deer winter range.

• The chapter is currently engaging in multiple public land use issues including large-scale transmission lines, mining expansion, development on big game winter range and federal land bills.

NEW ENGLAND

• In Massachusetts, members went to work at Muddy Brook WMA removing eastern white pine to help reestablish a 500-acre parcel as an open pine barren.

• Chapter members served as the voice for public lands in our region, from Maine on the Kennebec Highlands Management Plan advisory committee to Rhode Island as a panelist at the RI Land and Water Summit.

• The Vermont team continues to combat the loss of remote areas by pushing back against continued incursion by recreational infrastructure development.

NEW JERSEY

• The chapter participated in the Black Knight Bowbenders’ Big Foot Open, a 3D target shoot. This event also served as the chapter’s first in-person board meeting for the year.

• The chapter gladly signed on to comments authored by the New York and New England chapters to be included in Amendment 7 to the Interstate Fishery Management Plan for Striped Bass. The chapter looks forward to more engagement on striped bass issues.

• End of summer chapter events included a pint night at Odd Bird brewing in Stockton and a trail cleanup on the Wallkill River National Wildlife Refuge, along the Wood Duck Trail.

NEW MEXICO

• The chapter continues its work to maintain and enhance access in The New Mexico Bootheel region and is currently fighting an unnecessary road abandonment in Grant County.

• The co-hosted 2022 Full Draw Film Tour in Albuquerque exceeded expectations with 215 attendees and great exposure for the NM chapter and Kirtland Air Force Base AFI Club.

• The Kirtland AFB AFI club held a fly-fishing workshop to introduce beginner fly anglers to equipment, knots, fly selection, techniques, etiquette and casting.

NEW YORK

• The New York chapter, Hunters of Color and Gotham Archery teamed up to put on Archery Night in Brooklyn. There was a great turnout and the chapter looks forward to the next one!

• The chapter teamed up with Urban Archery NYC to provide its first Urban Hunters Workshop on Long Island. Topics included Scouting 101 and a tree stand safety demonstration.

• The chapter chartered Never Enuff III, a 56’ party boat out of Queens to fish Long Island Sound for porgies. Anglers enjoyed ideal weather and went home with fresh fish in their coolers!

OHIO

• The Ohio chapter joined with Ohio Women on the Fly and ran an event, “Bass, Trash, and BBQ Bash,” on the famous (formerly) burning river, the Cuyahoga. Over the course of a 6-mile float, bass were caught and trash was collected. The chapter is happy to report that the river was not burning and, in fact, seemed very healthy.

• In a significant expansion, the Appalachian Hills Wildlife Area grew by 6,898 acres. This is the final planned addition, bringing it to total to 54,525 acres, the largest in Ohio. The chapter applauds the hard work of the Ohio DNR in acquiring and maintaining this land.

• Ohio Gov. Mike DeWine recently signed the Capital Budget Bill (HB 687), which allocated $515 million, the largest investment in Ohio history, to help provide significant improvements to lodges, campgrounds, cabins, dams, trails, natural areas, wildlife research and conservation.

OREGON

• The Oregon chapter has expanded its policy footprint considerably this year through continued engagement with committees and task-forces around the state – notably, donating funds to enhance migration corridors and seeking broad/sustainable funding for the implementation of the Oregon Conservation Strategy.

• Oregon members rolled up their sleeves this summer and put in hundreds of hours of work on habitat, access and other collaborative conservation initiatives at events like All Hands All Brands in Ochoco NF, Meads Flat trail work on the lower Minam River and others. Partner orgs included RMEF, OHA, NWTF, MDF, USFS, OSP and ODFW.

• Oregon chapter members around the Portland area continue to tear down barriers to new hunters through efforts like new/newer adult hunter workshops, field days and special events with partners from Hunters of Color and The North American Non-Lead Partnership.

PENNSYLVANIA

• Board Member Adam Eckley and BHA member Sarah Xenophon hosted the second annual Learn to Fly Fish event. Participants camped at Ole Bull State Park, and all were able to take trout on a dry fly.

• Board Member Bob Smith led the annual PA Wilds Trail Challenge. This year the group covered 30 miles in the Pine Creek Gorge.

• The chapter held its inaugural turkey calling contest. Congratulations to the winner, Jay Stern!

SOUTH CAROLINA

• Sunday Hunting Bill H.4614 did not pass the state Senate this year, but momentum continues to build for the bill.

• The chapter hosted its first annual Fin and Feather camping gathering at Baker Creek State Park. Members enjoyed fellowship, fishing and “how-to” turkey hunting on public land. It also had a wonderful presentation by John Browning of Turkeys for Tomorrow.

• The chapter hosted a quarterly pint night with guest speakers from Hunters for the Hungry.

SOUTHEAST

• The chapter recently met with leadership within the Mississippi Department of Wildlife, Fisheries and Parks to determine new ways the chapter can assist the department in future projects and will be doing the same in Alabama and Louisiana soon.

• The chapter has several events in the planning stage, so keep an eye out for future events.

TENNESSEE

• The Tennessee chapter recently signed on as a sponsor to the TN CLEAN Act, which aims to reduce pollution and litter in the Volunteer State.

• The chapter is holding regular pint nights on the third Thursday of the month in the Nashville area. Keep an eye on social media for dates and specifics.

• Several chapter members have drawn western hunt tags and will be headed west this fall.

TEXAS

• The chapter hosted the Full Draw Film Tour in Houston on July 30.

• The premiere chapter event, “A Conservation Conversation” took place Aug. 11 in Austin. The event showcased a panel discussion, which included Danielle Prewett, Ben Masters, Jessie Griffiths, Alvin Dedeaux and Patrick Murray. Funds raised supported Texas Parks and Wildlife Department internships, habitat restoration and public land and water cleanups.

• The chapter is continuing with pint nights throughout the state and has had recent events in Austin, Houston and Dallas/Fort Worth.

UTAH

• The Utah chapter hosted an open archery shoot and wild game potluck featuring a guest speaker from the Utah DWR at Beehive-Wasatch Bowhunters.

• In July, Patagonia and the chapter co-hosted “Rooted in the Wild,” an event highlighting foraging, lead free and backcountry hunts.

• Applications were sent out for the Hunting for Sustainability workshop series, with 45 Utah BHA members applying. Fifteen members were chosen for the series.

WASHINGTON

• The chapter held its annual Access Freedom Archery Shoot with over 100 participants this year. Shooters worked through a challenging course through the woods of western Washington.

• The chapter continues to engage with the Washington Department of Fish and Wildlife Commission, demanding they uphold the North American Model of Wildlife Conservation.

WEST VIRGINIA

• The chapter and its members made its voices heard on the OHV bills this legislative session, and most of those bills died in committee. However, the fight is not over: a last minute resolution was passed to create a study of the benefits of motorized recreation on state lands and WMAs.

• The chapter hosted a pint night at Weathered Ground Brewery June 18.

• There will be a Public Lands Pack-Out event Sept. 24. Stay tuned to social media for event details.

WISCONSIN

• The chapter hosted a turkey hunting R3 event with bonus foraging, fishing and fun! Huge thank you to all mentors and landowners who graciously gave up their time or property for this event.

• The chapter submitted a letter of support to the WDNR in regards to their application for the America The Beautiful Challenge grant, and $5.7 million could be coming into the state to revitalize young forests with $1.2 million earmarked for habitat restoration of Wisconsin’s Sand Barrens.

• WI BHA recent began participating in a program that puts fishing line waste containers at local boat launches to help stop littering. The program allows the line to be sent in to get recycled.

WYOMING

• With warmer weather upon us, the chapter has been busy with events, including the Fly Fishing Film Tour, a trail clearing event and tabling at the JD High Country Outfitters 50th Birthday Party.

• Tom Chambers, Jared Oakleaf and Liz Lynch attended the BHA Rendezvous in Missoula. Jared and Liz sat down with Hal Herring and Ryan Callaghan to talk about corner crossing on the BHA Podcast & Blast, episode 132, and Liz also received BHA’s 2022 Aldo Leopold Award for her outstanding effort conserving terrestrial wildlife habitat.

• Wyoming BHA continues to prioritize supporting the four non-resident hunters who were unfairly charged with trespass in Carbon County last fall. The chapter is pleased to share that all four hunters were acquitted on all criminal charges per the jury’s decision on April 29. The civil suit, however, is still pending, and the cost for continued legal representation is likely to exceed what the GoFundMe has raised thus far.

Find a more detailed writeup of your chapter’s news along with events and updates by regularly visiting www.backcountryhunters.org/chapters or contacting them at [your state/province/territory/region]@backcountryhunters. org (e.g. newengland@backcountryhunters.org)

THE ALCHEMY OF EXPERIENCE

BY GENEVIÈVE JOËLLE VILLAMIZAR

In the beginning, Michelle Caprari wasn’t a meat eater. She was into archery, though – belonging to the local archery club and participating in its events. Michelle roamed her mountain domain in pursuit of the perfect shot. Eventually, curiosity piqued through new experiences; she set her sights on humanely sourced protein.

Entering their silver years, Tom Plant watched his wife discover hunting through events with Artemis, a women’s conservation organization. At the same time, his relationship to food was deepening, growing richer. He saw what hunting brought to the table through his wife: wild, clean meat.

Juniper Maya grew up with a pair of imaginary “wildlife goggles.” Along gravel top and backroads, she and her mom competed for years over who could spot animals first. They’ve scanned edges and open spaces throughout her entire childhood –observing, learning, connecting.

In November 2021, this disparate collection of humans attended a Colorado BHA Hunting for Sustainability camp. They wanted to learn to hunt.

But the barriers to entry in hunting are many and familiar. The primary barrier is the lack of a dad, uncle, friend or grandpa to loan weaponry and introduce you to hunting grounds and to the art of scouting, tracking, killing and even processing.

BHA’s Hunting For Sustainability camps educate on all of these topics and more.

“Hunting for Sustainability gets the message of ethics, being a responsible hunter, and the importance of food and education out to a broader audience,” said H4S camp host Adam Gall, owner

and guide of Timber to Table. “The ethics discussions are always engaging. The field work, like blood trailing and gutting and quartering a deer, is so impactful for people to experience handson. The processing component with Ana [Gall] is probably one of the highlights because everyone can relate to the food aspect, and they get excited about it.”

And then, there are the barriers that come from within – our own fears, or intimidation.

Just 11 years old, Juniper Maya admitted to both.

“I didn’t know what it was going to be like. … Would we really kill a deer?” she wondered. “Who would be there? Would I be shy?”

“I didn’t want it to be a bro-heavy experience,” Tom Plant said, and he wasn’t alone. Among the seven or eight men and three women present, several men acknowledged their ambivalence around the extreme hunter imagery and the reckless ethos sometimes associated with old-guard hunting. Arriving in camp, they were relieved to meet regular guys like themselves. “It was nice that way,” he said. “People acknowledged both the responsibility of ethical hunting, along with the challenges and benefits. I appreciated that.”

As a woman and archer, Michelle Caprari was a standout.

“I was a little intimidated when I arrived because I was the only girl participating that wasn’t an instructor,” she said. “It really eased my mind when Juniper and her mom showed up. I do actually like the idea of having both men and women – anyone really, including older children, because it adds to the diversity of experiences within the group.”

Adam Gall notes that in the past, H4S camps primarily targeted college students through R3, a national effort to increase support

Photos: Genevieve Villamizar

of hunting, conservation and wild food through recruitment, retainment and/or reactivation of hunters.

“This year,” he said, “we shifted that a little bit to make it available to just about anyone that wanted to sign up and learn.”

The diversity and breadth of experience Caprari values was reflected in the participants, which became more obvious as the opening introductions moved into why participants signed up and what they hoped to gain from the camp.

Maya’s mom had enrolled both her daughter and her in the hopes that the “together” element might open pathways into hunting together. Her mom was self-taught and hoped to bypass all the pitfalls with her own daughter.

At times, though, Maya said she could be mulish learning new things through Mom.

“I like my mom hunting. I can tell she really likes it, and animals and nature. And I really like nature – we have chickens –but I don’t know about the killing part,” she said. “We don’t eat our chickens; we eat their eggs. But I couldn’t kill my chickens. I don’t think I can kill. But I love seeing all the different animals.”

Like many new hunters, few attendees had grown up in a hunting family. A notable exception was a younger man who had grown up in a staunchly patriarchal, multigenerational hunting family – which essentially left his mother excluded. He chose to be with her, instead. Now a grown man, he could see the appeal of time spent in the woods and was ready to define hunting for himself.

Curiosity was rampant in all camp participants, tethered to personal aspirations.

After 26 years as a vegetarian, Caprari realized through archery that she could source clean, humane meat. Starting with a quarter of local, grass-fed beef raised compassionately, she began to teach herself how to cook meat. She moved on to humanely raised chicken, pork and other proteins. Despite her high elevation and short summers, she even began to grow vegetables, just to appreciate the effort that goes into growing them. She hopes to achieve that same relationship with the meat she eats.

“Hunting brings you close to nature, and you learn so much about the animals, the environment, the seasons and life cycles,” she said.

“I have a big garden,” said Plant, “but I also enjoy meat, so being able to harvest meat for food is important to me. Most things you can learn from books and YouTube videos, but not so much, responsible hunting.”

A significant responsibility in hunting is tracking the animal you have shot. Barely above four feet, Maya excelled in the blood tracking component. With eyes closer to the ground, her voice would ring out with glee upon finding the smallest of droplets in the duff, on branches or rocks. Adam Gall’s years of guiding came through as he explained the various aspects to tracking and interpreting blood.

Participants also had the luck to break down an illegally shot cow elk procured by Colorado Parks and Wildlife. The Timber to Table processing facility was in a brightly lit barn with room for everyone to take part. As a former professional butcher with hundreds of animals to her credit, Ana Gall taught campers how to break down an animal into familiar prime cuts that they then packaged and froze to take home later.

As the predesignated shooter, Plant had brought his .270, now

AND THAT’S WHERE HUNTING FOR SUSTAINABILITY EXCELS, GUIDING ATTENDEES THROUGH THE CRUX: CAN I PULL THE TRIGGER? CAN I KILL AN ANIMAL? CAN I SLICE OPEN SUCH A LARGE, BEAUTIFUL CREATURE?

familiar after much practice. As evening descended and campers cleaned up, Plant and Adam Gall slipped away for the evening hunt. Salmon and pink infused the broad sweep of sky across mesa, juniper, and pinyon. Shortly, a shot rang out, inciting excitement among the rest of the campers.

“I went up to the deer and just spent a little time with her, and thanked her. Right after the shot, I had an adrenaline rush and was kind of shaking a bit,” Plant said. “But after spending a couple of moments with the doe, that just faded away and I felt calm and thankful.”

Maya was slower to approach the field lesson on field dressing. She noted the still doe. Stroked her muzzle. Noted the splash of blood and tissue on the sage and stone. And quietly slipped off.

The rest gathered in a circle as Adam Gall demonstrated gutting, with Plant quick to assist. As they finished, headlamps aglow, Maya returned, curiosity overriding sorrow.

“Can I see her heart?” she asked Adam.

With two little girls of his own, Adam Gall knelt at Maya’s level. Hands moving gently through organs and guts, he showed her the heart, which she touched, and named various parts, transforming her queries of the unknown into knowledge.

Photos: Genevieve Villamizar

And that’s where Hunting for Sustainability excels, guiding attendees through the crux – Can I pull the trigger? Can I kill an animal? Can I slice open such a large, beautiful creature?

In the supportive circle of H4S fellowship, fear becomes courage. Ignorance becomes experience.

“I would highly recommend Hunting for Sustainability camp to others,” said Caprari. “Especially those who have not been raised in a family of hunters, or do not have resources to learn from friends and family. It was a great education, valuable experience and a good confidence builder to know that when the time comes I am prepared.”

“It really just connected it all – from the hunt to the dressing to the butchering to the table. That’s what I was after from the beginning and the camp really provided that,” said Plant. “It’s really the only thing I’ve seen that offers that kind of experience and provides a full view of the practice from the individual to the community to the habitat.”

“I wanna go next year, too,” Maya sang.

Writer, ecological landscape designer, solo flyer mama – BHA member Geneviève Joëlle Villamizar is, above all, a mountain woman.

Learn more about BHA’s Hunting for Sustainability camps at backcountryhunters.org/r3

RECURVE

Steeped in tradition, built to perform. With comfort, traction and durability that stand up to the hunt, the new Recurve boot is made for swift, confident movement through tough terrain.

Lessons from a Bad Fly Fisher

BY ERIK HOLTERMAN

My fly rod lays in the grass at my feet – the line in a disorganized heap, describing a story of frustration and annoyance. Handicapped by inexperience, I had attempted to battle the wind. It was a fight I had no chance of winning. The fly I had just lost was the last straw along a journey of poor casts, unnatural drifts and spooked fish. Overwhelmed, I half-dropped, half-tossed the rod aside in a quiet tantrum, cursing under my breath.

My only previous experience fly fishing was in Colorado along the Cache la Poudre River. My parents had surprised me with a guided trip as an early 18th birthday gift. I was terrible, but the guide still managed to put me on some fish. It wasn’t much, but it was all I needed. I flew home to Wisconsin with thoughts of trout swimming around my head.

Two years later, in April of 2022, and I’m in the midst of my third semester as a student and my first semester as a general officer with our BHA collegiate club at the University of WisconsinStevens Point. Underneath the constant pressure of chemistry tests, challenging essays and figuring out my place in this crazy world, BHA became an oasis for me. I was able to learn from, and work with, people who are passionate about protecting public lands and waters and the organisms that inhabit them.

The club planned a fishing and camping trip at the beginning of the semester. With that date quickly approaching, I decided to call an audible. Originally the plan was to crank Panther Martin spinners past the mouths of any willing brookie or brown. But after a couple of inspirational BHA meetings about fly fishing and its history in Stevens Point, I decided it was time to challenge myself. I made a few pretty expensive purchases on the credit card and got everything I needed. I promised myself that I wouldn’t touch my spinning rod until I caught one on the fly rod.

Finally, the day arrived. With some gas-station sandwiches sitting in our stomachs, the BHA convoy was on the road. After a couple hours driving through the flat, destructive path of ancient glaciers, we reached the region they had left alone – the famous Driftless Area, the promised land for outdoors people in pursuit of giant whitetails and quality trout streams. Arriving at our campsite, we hastily pitched tents, opened onX and then dispersed to any of the countless streams surrounding us.

Upon arriving at the creek, I hopped out of the car, strapped on my waders, and made my way to the water with my fly rod firmly in my hand. My footsteps clapped out a determined tune. With expectations soaring high, I stepped into the swift stream and carefully walked upstream, watching the glowing riffles up ahead. I prepared to take my first cast. While I had practiced leading up to this trip, I focused on form and rhythm and had neglected to practice the precise and accurate casting necessary for smaller streams. In addition, the steady wind blowing directly in my face was not something I was prepared to deal with.

I raised my rod and attempted a cast. The result: the bright orange fly line in a loop right where I wanted my fly to land. Immediately,

trout swam out from underneath the line. My fly was embedded in the matted grass, safe from the mouths of any hungry browns. This pattern continued for almost an hour. Sneak upstream, make a cast, spook fish, repeat. Finally, I managed to land my fly right where I had intended to, only to have the line drag the fly downstream despite my best efforts to mend the line. I made another cast, only to find that the fly that was just on my leader had vanished.

And there I stood, momentarily defeated. With a frown, I took a look around. The cottonwoods stood tall and steady. Bluebird skies cast shadows along the faded grays of this dormant valley of mute grass and brittle weeds. On a nearby ridge, a songbird cries, joining the stream’s steady speech. My frown fades, and I find myself submitting to the hypnotic hymn. The notes never change, but the sound is everlasting. I stare into the water. I see visions of trout beneath the glistening ripples. I watch them for a moment, but their still figures eventually melt into the streams – they become the same.

I often forget that humility and failure are constants in life. I find myself foolishly thinking that I’ll grow out of it – that one of these days, I’ll put it all together like everyone else around me. But every failure is a blunt reminder of one’s ignorance, pushing that fantasy further out of reach.

So, it’s OK if you are like me, a beginner fly angler, spooking fish with lousy casts. Your goal shouldn’t be to catch fish but to be humbled and fail. To learn and grow. Watch the scenery, listen to the stream and let your mind wander for a moment, no longer tethered to daily responsibilities and stressors. Focus on the freedom that brings. Think about the history of the land and the people who lived there before you. You aren’t the first to explore these waters and, hopefully, you won’t be the last. Surely these streams and rivers have witnessed humans fail and succeed for thousands of years. Failure is woven into this complex tapestry, right at home with the rounded rocks and the rising trout. Stay persistent and, eventually, the waters reward you.

Erik Holterman is concluding his first year as a general officer with the University of Wisconsin-Stevens Point BHA collegiate club, and he is looking forward to expanding his leadership role. When he is not working toward his degree in natural resource planning, he is thinking about or, preferably, chasing public land whitetails with his bow.

Photo courtesy Erik Holterman

THREADED BOLT KNOB

CARBON FIBER TENSIONED BARREL

CARBON FIBER PEAK 44 STOCK

The CORE Act & Camp Hale

BY DAVID LIEN

August 1990 I graduated from the University of MinnesotaDuluth and pinned on second lieutenant bars after wrapping up four years of Air Force ROTC and an undergraduate degree. Then, after completing 266 24-hour “alerts” in underground launch control centers, prepared to send a fusillade of LGM-30G Minuteman intercontinental ballistic missiles toward targets in Russia, I moved to Colorado.

After receiving an invitation from BHA founder Mike Beagle, a former U.S. Army field artillery officer, I joined BHA during March 2005. “Consider our organization, there are none like it anywhere,” Beagle said. The first BHA state chapter was founded by former U.S. Marine Corps helicopter pilot David “Elkheart” Petersen in Colorado, also during 2005, just a year after Beagle and the “Gang of Seven” stood around BHA’s founding campfire in southern Oregon.

Some 14% of BHA members are military service members or veterans, twice the U.S. average. In part to honor our veterans, both past and present, we held our 10th Annual Colorado BHA Rendezvous in 2018, not far from Camp Hale. Tucked in a high mountain valley 17 miles north of Leadville, Camp Hale was home base for the renowned World War II 10th Mountain Division.

The Colorado Outdoor Recreation and Economy (CORE) Act would protect Camp Hale by creating the first-ever National Historic Landscape, preserving nearly 29,000 acres surrounding Camp Hale. From November 1942 through June 1944 Camp Hale housed 14,000 troops – along with 4,000 mules and 250 sled dogs – of the 10th Mountain Division, who learned to rock climb, perform military maneuvers on skis, and endure a brutal climate in preparation for mountain warfare. Over 18 grueling months, soldiers trained to fight at high altitudes.

BHA’s Colorado chapter is committed to helping pass the CORE Act, securing long overdue recognition and protection for Camp Hale, along with preserving 400,000 acres of wildlife habitat. Through the designation of some 73,000 acres of wilderness, nearly 80,000 acres of new recreation and conservation management areas and a 200,000-acre mineral withdrawal in the water- and wildlife-rich Thompson Divide area southwest of Glenwood Springs, the CORE Act safeguards backcountry fishing and hunting opportunities and preserves healthy habitat for native trout, elk, mule deer, bighorn sheep, moose, black bears and other game species.

The CORE Act is a result of a decade-long collaborative

process, drawing on input from counties, businesses, ranchers, outdoor recreation groups, conservationists, hunters and anglers to protect – through a variety of designations – our shared public lands. Colorado BHA Central West Slope Regional Director Craig Grother said, “This is the first Senate vote on the bill in its decade-long history … [and] reflects the clear desires of local communities to have these lands protected in perpetuity.”

“The San Juan Mountains portion of the CORE Act … protects the headwaters of three watersheds in the region, including the Colorado River’s cutthroat trout habitat,” Grother added. “It also safeguards wildlife corridors and critical habitat for elk, mule deer, rocky mountain bighorn sheep and desert bighorn sheep. Wilderness is the gold standard for wildlife habitat and backcountry hunting and angling.”

The CORE Act passed the U.S. House of Representatives in February 2021. During May 2022 the Senate Energy and Natural Resources Committee took up the CORE Act in an official “markup,” a critical step toward advancing the bill in the Senate. There’s only one more step, a Senate floor vote, before it can go to the President’s desk. We’re hopeful this will occur during 2022.

The future of our hunting and fishing heritage and the North American Model of Wildlife Conservation depends on our ability to conserve intact landscapes and address the needs of wildlife in the face of increasing and dynamic challenges. The CORE Act provides important habitat protections that will have longterm benefits for wildlife. We thank CORE Act sponsors Sen. Michael Bennet, Sen. John Hickenlooper and Rep. Joe Neguse for championing this public lands legislation.

The 10th Mountain Division was deactivated in 1945 and subsequently re-activated in 1985, based out of Fort Drum, New York. Since then, the 10th has deployed to Iraq, Somalia, Bosnia and Afghanistan, but no matter where they’re based, members honor their alpine legacy by retaining the Mountain tab on their sleeve insignia.

During our 2018 Colorado BHA Rendezvous, we gathered around the campfire and cook stoves for a wild game feed consisting of Sitka blacktail venison, elk bratwurst, black bear stew, mule deer burgers and sliced Merriam’s turkey breasts (marinaded in a citrus-mango-fruit) with sourdough bread.

As is tradition – started by the “Gang of Seven – at BHA Rendezvous, there was a whiskey bottle or two passed around the campfire late into the evening. Mixed in amongst the many tall tales and other stories told that night was a toast (or two) to the 10th Mountain Division veterans who served at Camp Hale. Learn more about the CORE Act at coreact.org/

David Lien is a former Air Force officer and co-chairman of the Colorado Backcountry Hunters & Anglers. He’s the author of six books including “Hunting for Experience: Tales of Hunting & Habitat Conservation.” During 2019 he was the recipient of BHA’s Mike Beagle-Chairman’s Award “for outstanding effort on behalf of Backcountry Hunters & Anglers.”

Photo: Camp Hale ruins, Brent Flanders

Breathwork and Buck Fever

BY IAN RAMSEY

Every hunter and angler, upon spotting an animal or fish, has experienced “buck fever.” Your heart starts hammering. Vision narrows. You start sweating and breathing rapidly. Your hands shake and time distorts. Things get quiet. In some cases, there is a loss of motor skills, memory and maybe even loss of bladder control. As Aldo Leopold wrote: “The love of hunting is almost a physiological characteristic. I should not like to own the boy whose hair does not lift his hat when he sees his first deer. We are dealing, therefore, with something that lies pretty deep.” A 1996 University of Wisconsin-Madison study revealed that deer hunters’ heart rates spiked an average of 33 beats per minute higher after seeing and shooting a deer.

When you see an animal that you desperately want to tag, your fight-or-flight response kicks in. Essentially, a part of the brain called the amygdala, which is responsible for emotions and motivation, lets your hypothalamus know that it’s go time.

From there, a cascade of biological reactions occur, the most significant being that your adrenal gland dumps a serious dose of epinephrine into your blood. This natural stimulant affects us in different ways, but it will reliably amp up your blood pressure and increase your heart rate. Under stress, your breathing becomes quicker and shallower so that the body can absorb more oxygen and let off excess carbon dioxide.

So what can you do about it? You’ve probably been told to breathe, and while simply breathing helps a bit, there are more

skillful breathing techniques you can use so that you’re not forced to accept anxiousness or even take beta blockers like some hunters. Through a few simple breathing exercises you can control your physiology so that buck fever is a tool for focus instead of a debilitating state. Hunting should be a calm, intentional process, not a nerve-wracking, heart-palpitating experience.

1. Practice Nasal Breathing

You’ve probably heard the term “mouth breather,” and you know it isn’t positive. When you breathe through your mouth, you are cueing your nervous system that you are in an emergency state. Where your mouth is primarily designed for eating and communication (and for breathing in emergencies), our nose is designed to process, clean and distribute air to your body. When you breathe through your nose, air is filtered and moisturized and you are telling your nervous system that you are relaxed. Nasal breathing is very easy to train.

Start by practicing nasal breathing any time that you’re sitting or standing still, and from there you can build up to nasal breathing while walking, or even running or hiking. This trains not only your nervous system, but also your cardiovascular system, and it can even help backcountry hunters manage altitude. If you have nasal breathing as your baseline, you’ll have greater control over your nervous system at all times.

Photo: Brian Beard

2. Box Breathing

This simple technique was named by Navy SEAL commander (and yoga teacher) Mark Divine, who said that, “The fastest way to calm your mind, along with your body is through slow and controlled deep breathing.”

To box breathe, you begin by exhaling through your nose until there is no air left in your lungs, and then hold that empty state for four seconds. Next, nasal inhale for four seconds. Once your lungs are filled, hold your breath for another four seconds. Finally nasal exhale for another four seconds. And then you repeat the cycle: 4 count hold without air in the lungs, 4 count inhale, 4 count hold, and 4 count exhale.

Eventually, as you practice and increase your breathing threshold, you can extend from four seconds to longer times. Like nasal breathing, you can practice this anywhere from walking to the treestand to driving in your car, and it tones your nervous system and vagus nerve, bringing you to an alert, relaxed state.

3. Physiological Sigh

This technique is a simple pattern of breathing in which two nasal inhales are followed by an extended exhale through the mouth.

You can use this in the moment when you spot that buck or turkey and your heart rate rockets. The physiological sigh allows us to quickly slow the heart rate, calm the fight or flight response and regain control. It comes to us from Stanford neuroscientist Andrew Huberman.

Huberman explains that, “You have little sacks of air in the lungs, which increase the volume of air that you can bring in. Those sacks collapse over time, and as a result, oxygen levels start to go down and carbon dioxide levels go up in the bloodstream and body, and that is a big part of the signaling of the stress response.” The double inhale of the physiological sigh pops the air sacks, or alveoli, open, allowing oxygen in and helping you to offload carbon dioxide during the long, exhaled sigh out.

The physiological sigh is great because it works in just a few seconds, especially if you’ve already toned your breathing and nervous system through nasal and box breathing. We already do versions of this unintentionally when we yawn, so we’re wired for it. Also, if you have a dog, you’ve probably seen your dog do this!

4. Stimulating Breath

Have you ever gotten drowsy in the treestand or while glassing for hours? Just as you can use breath to lower your heartrate, you can also leverage it to stay awake and alert. In this technique, from the yoga world, you inhale and exhale rapidly through your nose while keeping your mouth closed. Try for three in-and-out breath cycles per second, which will recruit movement in your diaphragm, like a bellows. Start with 15 second rounds, and gradually increase as you build capacity. If you do this properly, you’ll feel invigorated throughout the body, possibly with a little tingling. If you get light-headed, take a break.

You have the capacity to use breathing to change your physiology and level up your performance as a hunter or angler. Wouldn’t it be great to be in control when you spot that animal? You can use these tools to get the job done and feel good doing it.

Ian Ramsey is a BHA member, bowhunter and mountain athlete who lives in Maine, where he directs the Kauffmann Program for Environmental Writing and Wilderness Exploration. For more information, go to ianramsey.net.

DESIGNED FOR THE PURSUIT

TECHNICAL SLEEP SYSTEMS to stay in the game.

Photo: Matthew Taylor, 2021 Public Lands & Waters Photo Contest

Imagine if someone put the same time, thought, and effort into designing fishing apparel that you put into finding fish. Someone did; we’re Skwala. We make thoughtful, dependable, comfortable gear—so meticulously built and thoroughly tested that you hardly notice it. Allowing you to focus on more important things, like fishing.

BUILT TO FISH

SELLING THE FARM

BY STEVEN HAWLEY

When you dream about the perfect elk habitat, you might as well be dreaming of Skinner Creek, ensconced in the Blue Mountains of northeastern Oregon. It’s a relatively small drainage, roughly 25,000 acres, of north-facing open parks interspersed with timbered draws, covering a surprising range of elevation, all of which provides food and cover for a stunning number of ungulates. Like all good elk spots, there’s a fair amount of hunting pressure, but here it’s well-dispersed: access is allowed only on foot. Alas, for the vast majority of hunters, 2021 was the last chance to partake in Skinner Creek’s bounty.

Skinner Creek is part of the 39,000-acre Wilkinson Ranch. In partnership with the Oregon Department of Fish and Wildlife, the ranch has been open to hunt since 1967. Owners Pam and Mark Wunderlich sold the lion’s share of their ranch, including Skinner Creek, in 2020, and the new owner, Brian Thompson,

proprietor of the adjacent Thompson Ranch, decided to convert their new holding into a private, fee-for-hunt operation.

Like many aging ranch families, the Wunderlichs had no children interested in taking over operations. In 2016, Pam was diagnosed with a serious cardiopulmonary condition, and on the advice of doctors, moved for much of the year to the coast of Washington state, where clean, cool, moist summer air would be a balm for her compromised lungs. “It breaks my heart to sell any part of our land,” says Pam Wunderlich, whose father, Dick Wilkinson, spent his whole life on the family ranch and became something of a local legend. “But we’ve reached the stage in life where we had to make some hard choices.”

Difficult choices besetting ranch families also affect hunting opportunities. Twenty-six states have programs like Oregon’s Access and Habitat, often funded through a portion of license sales, which keep gates open on private land. (Oregon’s sister program, Open Fields, is aimed at increasing waterfowl

Photos: Steven Hawley

opportunity on private land.) In the early 2000s, federal help boosted these efforts. The Voluntary Public Access and Habitat Incentive Program (VPA-HIP), first passed in 2008 but renewed in subsequent farm bills in 2014 and again in 2018, created competitive grant funding opportunities among state and tribal fish and wildlife management agencies to make deals with willing landowners.

But increased support for private land access programs has been tempered in part by pandemic-driven demand for ranch property.

Travis Schultz is ODFW’s Access and Habitat Coordinator. “The market pressure on hunting and ranch properties has created some challenges for programs like ours,” he says. “Like so much of what we do, there’s limited resources. We don’t have the finances to create opportunity for every good piece of habitat on private land. But at the same time, we’re always looking. Establishing a relationship with the landowner is the first step. And in that regard, there’s been nobody better than the Wilkinsons.”

Pam Wunderlich concurs. “It’s been a 54-year-long love affair with ODFW,” she says, “and it’s not completely over.” She points out that about a third of the historic ranch is still theirs. “And as long as I’m around, I intend to keep that open to public hunting.”

The elk Shangri-La portion of the Wilkinson, however, is off limits – unless you want to pony up the thousands of dollars it will now cost you to access the gorgeous country around Skinner Creek. It’s caused a fair bit of grumbling from hunters, many of them locals, who point out that the Wilkinson Ranch received checks from ODFW for most of those 54 years, and if you add them all up, the seven-figure total would go a long way to purchasing the ranch outright. ODFW’s Schultz says the idea of his agency buying the Wilkinson property is more complicated that just looking at the asking price. “You’re taking land out of production, land off the tax rolls, and jobs away that mean a lot in a small town like Heppner (the city of 1200 near the ranch). And, again, we have a limited budget that has to go to providing hunting opportunity all over the state, not just in one part of it,” says Schultz.

Keeping the family ranch open to the hunting public does provide income, but has costs, says Mark. Hunters cheating

regulations have been hauled off the property by state police. Some hunters feel free to put cattle on the move. Others absentmindedly leave gates open or their beer cans in the pasture. “I can see why Brian or any other rancher would opt to go to a private fee-to-hunt program,” he says. “You see just a handful of hunters, and the income would be as good or better.” But he sees value in the program, to the extent it can help keep farmers and ranchers on their land. He’s testified on the virtues of the Access and Habitat Program in Salem, the state’s capital. Hunters in participating states would do well to follow Mark’s example.

“The chance to hunt the Wilkinson brought hunters to Heppner, filled up the motels and restaurants and gas stations there,” says ODFW’s Schultz. “The state and the Wilkinsons helped make an economic investment in the area.” A 2011 economic study confirms what Schultz observed. It found that $9.1 million in VPA-HIP investments distributed among 13 states yielded $18.2 million in recreational spending – and created 322 new jobs, many of them in small towns like Heppner.

The Wilkinson Ranch, says Pam, stayed open to the public because her father wanted it that way. “He could be a hard man, but he really lived a life of service. He always wanted to help people, especially those in need,” she recalls. “He knew how hard it can be to keep food on the table, and allowing people to hunt he felt was one way you could keep something in the freezer.” The price of something, the elder Wilkinson seemed to recognize, did not always account for intrinsic values.

The Wunderlich’s real estate agent was somewhat taken aback by the price she agreed to with her neighbor. “He offered to get us access to Hollywood A-listers, ball-players; he thought we could get more money,” Pam says. “But we sold to a good man at a fair price.”

It was more important to her and Mark that the land remain a working ranch, and they happily noted the new owners’ son is dedicated to that cause as well.

Still, parting ways with Skinner Creek was not easy. The last chilly November morning for me there was spent with a friend whose parents both grew up in Heppner. My friend’s father, his uncles and old trusted friends have hunted the Wilkinson property for more than 60 years and hunted with us there this season.

We had an elk hanging that we still had to pack the three miles back to the rig. But we had a tag to fill and heard rumors a superherd of up to 500 had been spotted on the adjacent Thompson place. We were hoping for a glimpse. As the sleet sprinkled us, we spotted at least 300 of them, and spent the rest of the decent weather glassing the spectacle. Some were no more than 200 yards away, but on the wrong side of the fence.

In the soaking downpour on the pack out, it occurred to me that it wasn’t the elk that were on the wrong side of the fence but us. The huge herds will keep passing through here, but we will not.

BHA member Steven Hawley writes, fishes and hunts from his home base in Hood River, Oregon. In 2023, Patagonia Books will release Steve’s book on river conservation.

To raise your voice in support of conservation and access opportunities, visit backcountryhunters.take_action

INTRODUCING THE KNIFE & TOOL SHARPENER MK.2

Experience shaving sharp edges on all your knives. The KNIFE & TOOL SHARPENER Mk.2 is easy to use and delivers best-in-class sharpening for all knives and edged tools.

Sharper than the day you bought them.

LEARN MORE AT: WORKSHARPTOOLS.COM/WSKTS2-LEARN-MORE

THE KNIFE SHARPENING COMPANY

SCAN TO WATCH THE VIDEO

TRY GOHUNT MAPS RISK FREE

GOHUNT creates innovative solutions to your greatest hunting challenges. Our maps are buit from the ground up with the features you need to get the most out of your next hunt.

• Land Boundaries

• Immersive, Interactive 3D

• Detailed Hunt Layers, Tools, and Plans

• Custom Basemaps

• Offline Maps to Use in the Field GOHUNT.com/maps

50 States, $50 a year. Experience the difference.

Mother Wilderness

BY RAVEN AÄE

Before my shot could report off the far wall of the basin, she was on her feet, mouth agape in a roar. I hadn’t heard my shot, nor seen where it landed, and I didn’t have time to think – because she pursued me at a gallop. I ran blindly backward, arms akimbo, through wild rose and burned trees. As we ran, I – a southpaw – clumsily clawed at the bolt on my right-handed Parker Hale thinking only, “Well, it is either her or me.”

Given you are reading my whiplash retrospective of the hunt, the surprise is spoiled – but, in that moment, my future held exhilarating uncertainty. Perhaps you’re wondering: “Why is this woman hunting a bear alone in the first place?”

perturbed the teacher by acing my exams. I deemed the high school yearbook fascist (really, I was decades ahead of my time with that one) and instead had my classmates sign my ass with a Sharpie. On many occasions, I borrowed my mother’s Suburban 454 to drive snowy Forest Service land north of Rainier, where I’d wander for miles on foot and hone my raven call. All before I turned 15. I deserved to be sent to juvie. Instead, my parents, teachers and church leaders decided to fork me over to the local game warden and carnivore specialist a couple days a week after school.

I may have sprouted from Hell’s country, but I grew gangly on a frozen wave of effusive rock thrown from Devil Mountain thousands of years ago, on which my father kept steers and blackberries. He visited our cramped trailer only to do the necessities and returned to the fields with dirty fingernails, morning after morning.

I was an autistic savant twisted into a juvenile delinquent. One Halloween, I threw water balloons at the local cop car windshields and, in my flight, crashed my cowboy boyfriend’s truck into the Dairy Queen’s front window.

I dressed up and hit the bars with my little brother’s 21-yearold babysitter. I let cows loose in the school’s breezeways. I slept off my lunchtime beers in the back row of honors English then

I deserved to be sent to juvie. Instead, my parents, teachers and church leaders decided to fork me over to the local game warden and carnivore specialist a couple days a week after school.

It would be simple to focus my retelling of the time I spent with these formidable characters in the woods as only the highlights: gutting roadkill elk in a dark ditch with zero instruction, aside from “navel to throat”; working with Karelian bear dogs to locate and tag young cougars; building a den out of hay bales and fir boughs for an orphaned bear to be rematriated to his native forest; the many times I encountered half-tranquilized cougars in traps we’d set in town; firing a gun into the air to scare animals back into the wild when we released them. But the truth is the tedium and repetition of banal tasks is what prepared me to hunt alone later in life. We drove seemingly endless miles down sodden gravel roads

Photo: Raven Aäe

in the warden’s government-issued truck that smelled like wet dog. Rifles rode vertical and loaded in a compartment between us. Conversation was sparse. We ate grocery store buffalo wings from a plastic bag, warmed constantly over the defrost vents. I tried to breathe only through my mouth as I chewed.

Sporadically, he would stop the truck at an unremarkable bend in the road or at a faint line of tracks crossing our path of travel and would bark at me, “Get out.” I never knew why we had stopped or what the task he’d assign me next would be. Sometimes he’d have me get in the driver’s seat and tell me to throw it in reverse. He’d instruct me to back down the road without turning around to look, sometimes for miles at a time. I’d wind the Silverado around blind corners, up and down hills, across creeks, through the labyrinth of Forest Service roads we’d just traveled. Other times he would put a gun in my hands – chiding me for being such a staunch leftie – set up an empty pop can as a target and then tell me how many shots to take in how many seconds. Sometimes it was a long gun, sometimes a pistol; I wasn’t allowed to complain about the kick or noise either way. He’d stand close to my right shoulder and say, “Exhale and squeeze. You better not drop or flinch.” Then I’d lay the piece aside, and we’d examine the target. Other times he’d bolt off through choked third-growth hemlock and wrist-thick stalks of American ginseng, covered in glops of wet snow, for a couple hundred yards, then he’d stop in a clearing while I panted and ask: “What animal’s tracks was I following? How far ahead are they? Did you smell any animal on our way here? Whose scat is that? What birds do you hear in the trees over there?” I knew I’d have some sort of primal pop quiz any time he threw the truck in park.

our practice, and we would move in silence next to one another.

Driven by my paired boredom and antics in high school, I left at age 15. I promptly went to college full-time, then got a job. That new freedom of time and money allowed me more unstructured time, which I chose to use wandering alone in the mountains and writing tomes upon tomes in my journals perched in a crook of andesite or cramped in the front seat of the truck.

Still 15, I took my mom’s Suburban into the hills where I had built that haybale den. The hills were north-northwest of Mount Rainier and covered in snow. I hiked for perhaps eight miles and doubled back on my path of ascent in a burn scar when I sensed dusk approaching. On the return trip, I saw the prints of a large cougar laid over mine: she had followed me. That was the first time I felt the now-familiar mix of fear, responsibility and wonder that comes standard with each of my solo ventures into the wilderness.

My time alone in close proximity with animals continued, nullifying the all-too-common and irrational fear most people hold of so-called wild animals.

Soon after teaching myself to climb, I spent my 20s in a cycle like this: work a high-paying desk job for a few years; save a few thousand dollars; quit my job; go on a climbing expedition; return from the expedition sick, broke and tired; get another job; repeat.

During my decade in and out of the slick world of global development and the parallel universe of my climbing mania, I had the obscene privilege of meeting many of the world’s great species – most of them while alone and on foot: a white-bellied musk deer in a Himalayan rhododendron forest; a Bengal tiger on the terai at sunrise; a close encounter with an Andean condor while clinging to a Patagonian spire; many prides of lions, a leopard stalking a puku, a hippo and her calf, and an unassuming black-necked spitting cobra in the Zambian bush. Until well into my 30s, I mistakenly thought everyone had as many nonchalant encounters with these mysterious friends.

Around the same time as guns, trucks and wild animals took the place of juvie, I began spending time with a yogi family friend. While yoga practice is commonplace today, 20-plus years ago it was fringe at best.

Her house was sunny and tidy, and the wood floors on which we practiced upstairs in the spare bedroom gleamed every time we met there. She was a wise teacher – she never told me what to do but, instead, demonstrated. I eagerly mimicked, observing how the practice gave her a sense of calm and composure I’d not witnessed in many adults in my life. While my wily mischief and unbridled intellect confused or intimidated most adults, she was unflappable, and I never tested or pushed her. She would put on a CD (that’s a compact disc, for those of you born in the 2000s) of

Ten minutes following meeting the aforementioned musk deer, a Dzogchen Buddhist monk walked out of the brush behind me. He was my age, wearing crimson robes and flip flops, a giant smile spread across his face. We soon discovered our only language in common was Japanese and spoke it haltingly. He invited me to stay a few days at the monastery nearby where he lived and served as the artist-in-residence. In my high-altitude stupor and still questioning the state of reality given the sequence of events in the past hour, I followed him the short distance to his home monastery. Over the next couple days, he smuggled me dal bhat from the monastery kitchen, gave me instruction in meditation and began painting a mandala for me to take home. In the soil of my mind, tilled to fertile pliability by my decade-long yoga practice, his seeds of compassionate care and his curious inquiries found space to grow. Before leaving, I’d taken refuge as a Buddhist.

As the years passed, my inner voice of wisdom persistently urged me to live closer to the land, and I realized that my cycle of grinding away at the desk job then spinning off into the outer space of expedition land every couple of years was unsustainable;

Photos courtesy Raven Aäe

I am called to cultivate deep gratitude for the gifts they give me and my family and to mitigate the harm done by taking careful steps in alignment with my beliefs.

I had arrived at the point of decision. Once I knew I couldn’t continue spanning the gap by not sleeping enough and having no social life, the choice was easy.

In a few short weeks I’d broken the lease on my house in the rainforest, quit my desk job, packed my Ranger to the gills with climbing gear and my cat and moved to the banks of the Chewuch River. There, from the banks of the river – a mile from where I now share a cabin with my 6-year-old daughter – I tethered my laptop to the one bar of 4G and completed my online hunter’s education between stints of shaking off triple-digit heat wetwading and bringing to hand trout after trout on my fly rod.

As my intimacy with my new home increased, so, too, did my interest in hunting. My desire to hunt was driven not by the desire to kill but by the desire to eat and to feed my family well.

A common Western misconception is that Buddhists are prohibited from eating meat – this is incorrect and the reality is far more nuanced than I realized at the outset of our discussions. In years-long discussions with my friend and Buddhist teacher,

she taught me how karma works. We talked about offsetting the negative impact of killing with a respect and gratitude for the animal’s life. I am called to cultivate deep gratitude for the gifts they give me and my family and to mitigate the harm done by taking careful steps in alignment with my beliefs.

So, focused on providing a swift kill and taking my first animals with both my animal and human kin in mind, I shot my first grouse with my 4-month-old daughter tagging along in the BabyBjörn. I took the grouse on an arid whitebark pine forest a half-mile above where I’d first plucked a trout from a turquoise lake years prior when I lived in the back of my Ranger.

As I was preparing for my first season of big game hunting, a self-proclaimed wilderness shaman invited me to accompany him as he tracked elk on his favorite hunting grounds. When it turned out I could see tracks he couldn’t at full speed while driving, he decided to stalk me instead – I obtained a stout restraining order and continued my hunts in the safety of solitude. Then, after a seasoned local hunter (who claimed he could teach me to hunt

but then saw me in a dress and all he could say was “I wish I was 20 years younger”) told me you can’t predator call a bear, I knew my success – and, perhaps, my safety – resided in the shadowy counterfactual. I’d already run more than 30 solo, unsupported mountain ultras (many while pregnant with my daughter), speed climbed glaciated peaks alone and taught myself to hunt and fish. Why would I chance the leering presence of a man on my hunt clouding my perceptive abilities? I didn’t need them any more than I needed a camo outfit.

Having learned from past wanders in the mountains that a distressed fawn sounds like a sobbing infant, I took my calling to the woods at the beginning of bear season, 2020. I camped alone and woke to temperatures still in the 70s in the dawn dark. I walked with my rifle – both of us sweating – to the edge of an unkempt creek bank bearing berries and grouse to do my work. I bawled until I was breathless, recovered, then bawled again.

Hearing a crack and settling of wings in a larch to the left, I ceased my cries and turned to regard the being who took interest in my racket. There, perched on the branch, was a magnificent bird with a piercing stare and a long, razor-sharp tail – a goshawk. Despite that my uncomfortable work had yielded yet again no bear sighting, let alone a shot, I knew I’d done it right if I’d called in such a handsome predator. Encouraged by the morning’s failure, I ambled back to my truck. There in the moon-dust, right next to my driver’s side door as if he’d stepped out of the cab, was the print of a massive boar.

That summer and autumn I hunted four days a week, morning and evening, alone on the burned land surrounding my remote

cabin. At the beginning of each hunt, I plucked a fallen raven feather from the ground – how is it possible? On each hunt, I saw fresh bear sign, and even once spotting the roan flank of a boar sauntering through a thicket of rose without a good shot.

I didn’t fire a single shot that fall, and yet I exited the season feeling a sense of deepened intimacy – something ineffable from my DNA-deep history with the species had begun to lock into place. I knew the next season would be different.

Following a weeklong heat dome that locked my valley into temperatures upwards of 116 degrees, I reveled in the comparatively-mild temperatures of mid-July 2021 by ascending a peak I call Flirts-With-Bluebird, a hunk of granite jutting out of the Chewuch headwaters. That morning the non-sense inside me had told me to hike up there alone to meet a bear. I had a feeling this was a divinely designed rendezvous with the bear I was going to take in a few weeks’ time to show me where we may encounter one another and for me to get a good assessment of the size and demeanor of the animal. I toiled in the still-hot afternoon sun until reaching the point where the scribble of a trail diverges from the creek and points toward the ridgeline and heard a telltale scuffling in the creek. Looking up from my feet, my eyes met those of a medium-sized boar perched on a burned stump across the creek’s gorge, perhaps 50 yards away.

He cocked his head to the side, seeming to ask what I had to say. I chatted with him and then, when he didn’t run off, sang a couple blues songs to him. Then, without changing posture or tone, I said: “OK, I’ll be back in a couple weeks to shoot you.” Hearing this, he was on his back feet, gnashing his teeth and swiping his paws at the air.

Departing this encounter, I took it as a sign that this was my year, and I would finally take a bear. Uncanny as it may have seemed, my Sámi ancestors have an explanation for the sort of interaction that bear and I had, said John Weinstock at the University of Texas:

“It was commonly thought that the bear could understand human language, at least on a fundamental level. Therefore, one could not use the real word for bear or parts of the bear’s body; otherwise the bear would become aware of the hunters’ intentions,” said Weinstock.

In order to circumvent the ire of their intended quarry, my ancestors would have only referred to the bear in kinship terms or euphemisms. According to Weinstock, included among them are “(1) circumlocutions based on the bear’s characteristics such as muottat ‘the fur-clad one’; (2) metaphorical expressions such as meahcehas ‘the one living in the forests’; and (3) kinship terms such as luođuid eadni ‘mother of the wilderness.’ … using a kinship term would help give the bear a kind disposition toward people.”

Two weeks prior to bear season opener, a guy living down the road from me lit the forest on fire. The fire moved so quickly on that hot, windy July day that I only had time to grab the cat

I didn’t fire a single shot that fall, and yet I exited the season feeling a sense of deepened intimacy – something ineffable from my DNA-deep history with the species had begun to lock into place.

Photos: Raven Aäe

and a couple changes of clothes for myself and my child before we skedaddled. As we drove out of the valley, a clutch of firefighting planes dipped in and out of the mile-high wall of black smoke crowning my home drainage. The air had erupted in sirens. Pragmatically, I bid my home farewell. My daughter and I stopped on the Columbia to wash the ash and sweat off our bodies. A beguiling cast of sepia waved over our skin, and I tried not to let her see me cry.

Despite the ominous scene that chased us out of our valley and the firefighters’ grim tones the days following the fire’s hungry tear through our bend of the river, the cabin survived. Somehow, rather than trammeling over our four walls, the fire had traced a protective circle around our home. Our home, positioned where humanity becomes an inconsistent fringe twining itself with the Pasayten Wilderness, at the base of glacial ramps, which point to outposts of tundra, surrounded by the forests who feed us, remained.

Returning home was jarring. Not only had I reinhabited a ghostly shell, but the garden – which had not been watered through nearly a month of 90-degree days, dense blankets of fetid smoke and the heat of the fire hugging the garden fence – bore a vibrant crop of heirloom beans, lilies and a celebration of zinnias, which I put in a glass, filling it with water and stunned tears

before setting on my bedside table.

All my hunt spots had burned, and the bear I met the month prior was now inaccessible through the closures. I busied myself with cleaning thick coats of ash off everything we owned, grateful my daughter didn’t have to watch me do it. I ushered armies of ants and a rotten refrigerator out of the kitchen. I greeted all the belongings that I thought were reduced to ash with the stupid joy of a child opening her birthday gifts.

I’d been home for 48 hours from our 25-day wildfire evacuation. I had moped in my writing chair all morning when the voice said: “Get up. You’re going hunting.” Not only did it tell me to go that instant, but it told me where. As my inner voice of wisdom is wont to do, it met me with insistence in repose.

That damn voice pointed me to a burned slope less than a mile from where I taught my daughter to ski three years prior, and where for two years running I’d tailed elk fruitlessly for two weeks on end in snowy mud. It’s where in the heat of the summer I take dusty refuge beside my Tundra to consume a half rack of La Croix and loose my hand on the page.

I hesitated but complied, wearing my bikini under my hemp canvas because I couldn’t imagine that this random hunt on this random day would yield a bear.

As soon as I stepped out of my truck and into the forest,

Following a series of micro-events so strange and holy I dare not share, I found myself staring down the scope on my rifle, exhaling as my bear turned broadside and took a step forward into the copse of aspens that would serve as her grave.

though, my many thoughts stopped altogether, and I knew the day would be different than the many hunts of the season prior. A forest I’d walked a hundred times before glimmered, though I knew everything green had turned late-August tawny and precisely nothing sparkled in the dry heat. The trees called my name and told me which way to walk.

I ate four kinds of berries with my right hand while my left kept a solid grip on my rifle and the feet beneath me moved without thought.

Following a series of micro-events so strange and holy I dare not share, I found myself staring down the scope on my rifle, exhaling as my bear turned broadside and took a step forward into the copse of aspens that would serve as her grave. Mother

Wilderness lay at my feet, blonde and still warm – I ululated, screamed, threw my rifle to the ground, waited, and then I got to work.

BHA member Raven Aäe is the founder of Magnetic North (magneticnorth.us). She shares a cabin with her daughter on the edge of the Pasayten Wilderness.

Editor’s Note: This has been edited from its print version to correct an editorial error, where an earlier draft of the story was mistakenly published. This is the correct, final version of the story.

Photo: Raven Aäe

PUBLIC LAND OWNER & ADVOCATE

NEW FRAMES

MADE FROM

GEMS Among the AUFEIS

BY KEVIN FRALEY

Snowdrifts piled up and buried my cabin in interior Alaska in the winter of 2019. Outside, temperatures hovered as low as minus 40 degrees. When the cold, dark months trapped me inside, I used the time to dream about Alaska’s short summer and fall seasons. Inside, I pored over online maps, planning an early fall trip. I’d stumbled onto a scientific report from the 1970s that described fish presence in rivers of Alaska’s Arctic Slope, the area of mountains, tundra and coastal plain stretching from the Brooks Range north to the edge of the Beaufort Sea.

The report discussed several rivers in the Arctic National Wildlife Refuge, the U.S.’s northernmost and largest refuge, which held adult, sea-run Dolly Varden char, prized for their sport and subsistence value throughout the Arctic. I’d explored one of these rivers on a previous hunt and hadn’t realized that “Dollies” were swimming below me. As my eyes traced the lines of the rivers on the map, I envisioned a packraft beached along sparkling whitewater and a large Dolly – with scarlet belly and constellation of white and red spots, ivory-edged fins and a toothy orange kype – nosing toward my fly. The mere thought of these fish got my heart pounding.

On the Arctic Slope, juvenile Dollies grow one to two years in upriver tributaries, finding refuge in the few stretches that don’t freeze to the streambed during the brutal winters. Later, they descend to the Beaufort Sea during open-water seasons to feed and grow. In late summer, mature adults, the biggest more than 14 years old and approaching 30 inches in length, muscle their way up Arctic rivers to spawn in headwater tributaries. After

spawning, these fish drift downriver to a few deep or spring-fed pools, where they overwinter in large groups. When river ice breaks up in the spring, they return to the ocean to feed, ranging up to 40 miles offshore. This cycle repeats annually until they die.

I had never caught a Dolly on the Arctic Slope, despite a few previous half-hearted fishing attempts while caribou hunting. I hadn’t tried hard enough, and the Arctic Slope is notorious for bad weather. Rain and snow plummet, rivers blow out and fishable water disappears in the blink of an eye. Sunny days are a rare blessing, but I hoped to find a few fishable days this coming August.

I called up my friend John and asked if he’d be interested in an Arctic Refuge fishing trip for Dollies.

The plan as I outlined it was to hike about 20 miles upstream along a river holding Dollies, cross a drainage divide to another river, and float 16 miles back to near where we started. As Alaskan residents, John and I could pursue several species of big game animals on this trip, and we decided we’d chase caribou on the float out. Caribou herds migrate seasonally throughout the area, and hunting is allowed in the Arctic Refuge.

Wilderness originals like Olaus and Margaret Murie and Wildlife Conservation Society’s George Schaller fiercely advocated for establishment of the Arctic National Wildlife Refuge as a way to preserve the unique landscapes and abundant wildlife. Today, conservation and Indigenous groups continue to fight for its protection.

Photo: Kevin Fraley

The refuge is in the news frequently, as opening the Section 1002 Area along the coastal plain for oil exploration has been a decades-long national controversy. The U.S. Department of Interior conducted a drilling lease sale during the Trump era, but it garnered no interest from major oil companies. And in 2021 the Biden administration subsequently suspended the few leases that were issued and ordered a moratorium on development in the refuge. However, debates at the local, state and national levels continue about whether drilling should occur, with Alaska Natives, politicians, economic development proponents, conservationists and outdoor recreationists all weighing in.

While oil exploration and extraction in the refuge may result in economic benefits and jobs, it may also result in irreparable harm to the landscape, wildlife and fish. The neighboring Prudhoe Bay oilfields have shown that myriad roads, pipelines, gravel pad and drill rigs can disrupt caribou movements and occupy migratory bird breeding areas.

Most animals on the Arctic Slope move long distances and would encounter oil exploration infrastructure during their annual migrations. For caribou, the sights and sounds caused by gravel roads, heavy machinery and the sounds of seismic “thumper” vehicles could be enough to change behaviors during the critical calving period along the Arctic coast.

Dolly Varden and other sea-run fish species undertake spawning runs through the Section 1002 Area while ascending rivers within the refuge and move along the coastline of the area during summer movements. If the area were developed, it would potentially expose fish to any negative disturbances occurring there (e.g., gravel extraction and chemical spills).

In addition to a classic Alaskan adventure, I was hoping to gain some personal clarity on the oil extraction issue while immersed in the refuge. While we would not be within the Section 1002 Area, the Dollies that we hoped to catch transit those coastal waters during the summer feeding period.

We trudged across tundra tussocks with the sun beating down. Sweat poured off us under the weight of packs laden with our camping gear, packrafts, food, fishing rods, rifles, revolvers and other necessary items.

the face and the river roaring, the bear didn’t startle as it walked downstream, ambling by us at 200 yards.

Time seemed to run away, and late August 2020 arrived. John and I embarked on our adventure from our jumping-off point a few hundred miles north of Fairbanks, just outside of the refuge boundary. We trudged across tundra tussocks with the sun beating down. Sweat poured off us under the weight of packs laden with our camping gear, packrafts, food, fishing rods, rifles, revolvers and other necessary items. A few biting flies buzzed around us, but the whining of the notorious mosquito hordes of the tundra were absent thanks to recent frosts.

Inflating our packrafts, we crossed a large river, then deflated and stowed the boats back in our packs and hiked upstream along a smaller, wadeable river where we hoped to find Dollies. We clambered across wide gravel bars and sedge tussock benches. There are no spruce trees on the Arctic Slope of Alaska, but stubby willows poked up in clumps in and around the river bottom.

The river started out swift and strewn with boulders. We continued up a couple miles through a small canyon, rounding a right-hand bend to find the wide plain of the upper river spreading out before us. As we walked along the gravel bar, we spotted a small grizzly bear along the far bank, fur rippling as it dug after roots or small mammals. With the wind hitting us in

Soon we came to a tributary entering the river. We snuck up to see the outlines of fish hovering in the icy, diamond-clear water, congregating in a large group before traveling further upriver to spawn. This was it. John rigged up a spinning rod, while I had my 7-weight fly rod and an articulated purple conehead leech. Soon, John yelled. I looked up to see him land a small female Dolly, recently arrived from the Beaufort Sea more than 120 river miles away. She lacked the harlequin coloration of the males but exuded a steely beauty. Releasing this fish, John continued casting.

Casting out into the pool, I felt my line lurch forward. A strong male Dolly stood out in the clear water with his brilliant red belly and white-edged fins. He bulldogged in the current, straining my rod arm, brilliant colors glittering like a collection of gems against the grey river stones. He was a nice six-pounder, among the bigger fish that we caught. A gritty survivor, he sported a finger-length gash on his side, perhaps from a seal lying in wait as he entered freshwater. Despite the wound, he torpedoed out of the shallows after I removed the hook. Both John and I caught more Dollies, as well as some large, dark purple Arctic grayling, resplendent with their iridescent sailfins.

Hoisting our packs we continued upstream until we saw a small group of gulls circling. This usually screams fish, and sure enough, we found a large group of around 50 Dollies holding in a choppy-water pool. The gravel banks in the area exhibited odd hummocks, sculpted by aufeis, some of which still remained unmelted just upstream.

Photos: Kevin Fraley

Aufeis is the word for the 3- to 10-feet-thick icefields left over from the previous winter when water overflowed the river channel and froze repeatedly. These flat-topped mesas of white ice, created and then carved by river channels, sometimes extend for miles and may remain unmelted all summer. The fish downstream of the aufeis aggressively struck my streamer. My fly line zipped out when the big males made runs. I scrambled after them downriver, tripping and sliding on gravel.

When we began walking along a miles-long icefield to find a campsite for the night, a small group of caribou, including several bulls, raced along the top of the aufeis to within 100 yards of us in curiosity and then retreated, repeatedly. Anything we harvested here would need to be packed up and over a drainage divide to the river we would float out on, so we kept the rifle slung. We walked on top of the ice for a half mile – the flat, hard surface preferable to wandering through the gravel bars and busting through willow thickets. Traversing the frozen plain in the hot sun felt like a different planet.

Eventually, we stopped at a sandy beach along the river just inside the ANWR boundary. We pitched the tent and sat in light clothing, enjoying the late-season warmth. I noticed a large male Dolly swimming up the river below camp and broke out the fly rod, casting into the current. Without hesitation, he surged towards the fly and bit angrily, turning downstream. Hauling on the rod, I chased him down through a riffle, clear water spraying as I crossed the channel to a gravel bar to land him. After a short fight, he slid into my hands, kype gaping – a truly stunning fish bedecked in spawning finery.

The next morning, we continued upstream, further into the refuge. We still saw Dollies but squandered the few opportunities we had, expectations of more fish upstream making us careless.

Arriving at another canyon section with large boulders, looking at our map, we realized we needed to start ascending the drainage divide so we could cross to the river we planned to raft down. A large bull moose grazed along the tundra nearby. His half-graceful, half-gangly bulk seemed out of place in this land without trees.

We laboriously worked our way up towards a pass in the low, gray-shale mountains of the Brooks Range foothills, passing a porcupine high in the pass, shuffling along a dry streambed. I had never seen a porcupine this far north, much less miles from the smallest willow and was amazed by the adventurous spirit of the little animal.

When we dropped down to the next river, vast stretches of aufeis gleamed in the distance amongst a backdrop of bare, gray mountains. We descended a steep talus slope, the rocks clinking together. At the bottom, we made camp, inflated our packrafts and enjoyed dinner in the bright sun.

On our final day out, we floated our way down to the main river against a light breeze, carrying our packrafts and packs about a mile along a severely braided section of the river before it became deep enough to float again.

Once on the main channel, we zipped down the large river. The water sparkled in the sun as we scanned for wildlife and more Dollies. The way the water flew by, I knew we would easily cover the 16-mile distance to the takeout by the end of the day. A couple miles downriver, a grizzly bear burst out of willows on river left and splashed across the creek just downstream of us after catching our wind. In its haste, the bear plunged into a deep hole, nearly sinking over its head. We watched it scamper up the side of a distant hill, seemingly mortified by its undignified escape.

Continuing our descent, we were unable to locate any more Dollies, but eager grayling grabbed our flies. Later in the day,

we came around a bend and nearly floated past a bull caribou standing in a trance-like state on a gravel bar. We quickly pulled ashore. The caribou noticed us and jolted into action. John took the rifle as the caribou trotted along the river across from us. He sat down and aimed carefully, steadying his elbow on his knee.

Thwack. The bullet hit home, and the animal spun around in a circle before coming to rest in the tundra alongside the river. We waded across, pulling out our knives and game bags. The bull had a respectable double-shovel rack shrouded in velvet and would make fine eating.

It was quick work between the two of us to quarter the animal and gather the lean steaks, rib meat, neck meat and other scraps. Then came the challenging part – fitting all that meat and the head in our small packrafts, already loaded down with our multi-day packs. We piled everything on board. Miraculously, everything stayed attached through the half-dozen class III rapids on the way to our takeout point.

Coming around a bend, I caught a whiff of barnyard scent, and we soon floated past a herd of 20 or more shaggy-haired muskoxen, grazing and ambling around the gravel bars and willow patches just 50 yards from our rafts. Once extirpated, muskoxen were reintroduced to the Arctic Refuge around 1970, and it was a treat to see these charismatic animals.

It wasn’t long before we floated out of the Refuge and back to reality. Just a couple hours after harvesting the caribou, we’d reached the end of our journey and headed homeward. Already reliving the trip in my head, I again pondered the effects that oil development could have here.

Don Thomas called Arctic National Wildlife Refuge the “last best wild” it in the spring 2022 issue of Backcountry Journal. Abounding with fish and game, and revealing cryptic and beautiful

secrets to the few outdoorspeople who venture far enough in the backcountry, it is imperative that this special, wild place remains protected and unspoiled for the enjoyment of future generations of Americans.

While oil exploration and extraction practices have improved in recent years, seismic surveys used for exploration have been proven by peer-reviewed science to leave lingering effects along the tundra and waterways they intersect, and the possibility of a catastrophic spill is also a concern. The 2006 and 2009 oil spills (267,000 and 45,800 gallons, respectively) in the Prudhoe Bay oilfields nearby are a troubling reminder of the impacts that could occur in the Arctic Refuge if the Section 1002 Area is developed. And the physical mark of the Prudhoe industrial complex will remain upon the landscape long after the oil ceases to flow through the Trans-Alaska Pipeline.

The story remains to be written about whether oil extraction will occur in the Arctic National Wildlife Refuge, and we, backcountry hunters and anglers, must stand strong in defense of this “last best wild.”

Kevin Fraley lives in Fairbanks, Alaska, is a volunteer board member for BHA’s Alaska chapter and works as a fisheries ecologist for the Wildlife Conservation Society. When not dodging mosquitos and bears while conducting remote fieldwork, he is usually found chasing after Chinook salmon or sheefish with a fly rod.

Photo: Kevin Fraley

BE OUT OF ICE, FOREVER.

Dometic CFX3 Series Powered Coolers

With Dometic's new CFX3 Powered Coolers, CCF-T Center Console Refrigerator, and PLB40 Portable Lithium Ion Battery, being unquestionably comfortable while remarkably disconnected has never been easier.

Learn more at dometic.com

Make the most of the outdoors near and far with @Dometic

TESTED AND PROVEN IN SUBALPINE

ANYWAY, THE WIND BLOWS

NEW JETSTREAM JACKET

THE BEST IN VERSATILE WIND PROTECTION JUST GOT BETTER

The gear that first put us out in front is doing it again with this evolution of the Jetstream. Known for the best wind protection, it’s now even quieter and more comfortable. Versatility increases with the widest variety of patterns and colors we’ve ever made. And women’s and men’s cuts fit and move even better. Every limitation engineered away, it’ll no doubt become your go-to jacket or vest everywhere from the trailhead to the treestand to the marsh.

FLATLANDERS’ ELK

BY DREW KAZENSKI

BHA member Bobby Baker and I reside in Illinois, at 618 feet above sea level – just below the corn tassels.

In September 2021, we embarked on a Northern Colorado DIY public land elk hunt – a much different experience than our usual Illinois whitetail hunts. The combination of a damn good friend and a lot of research resulted in us coming home with a wealth of knowledge, meat in the freezer, a hell of a story and an even greater appreciation for our public lands.

I like to think of preparation as a circle, with the hunter in the middle, surrounded by the tasks that will make or break the hunt before it even starts. While standing in that circle, the hunter holds a block of anticipation, its weight increasing daily until the day you return home – always looking for what’s next, what to do now, where to go and how to get there.

Our preparation began long before the truck was loaded. Researching Colorado units was a yearlong endeavor. When we were notified of our successful draw, the summer was spent scouring maps, preparing gear and training. The plan and a backup plan were in place. Plain and simple: hike in with preparations to not return to the truck for seven days.

Day 1

The truck made it as far as I felt comfortable: 1,107 miles from the comforts of home, parked on top of a ridge, just off a rough access road. As the sun crept over the mountain, reality set in, and I hoped I was ready, hoped I had everything I needed and hoped to see an elk.

We pushed into the dark timber with the goals of getting beyond the hunters camping near their trucks and saving time and precious energy by not having to return to a base camp.

At mile two, through the willows and blowdowns, I began questioning the weight of my pack. Calculating and celebrating each snack and meal quickly became a ritual. Each meal eaten from my seven-day stash rids my back of about four ounces. The next day, I’d be lighter. Truth is I just wasn’t used to the pack weight. By day two, the weight was less of a burden and became normal. I downed a snack, and we watched a bear pluck some berries on the south facing hillside. Our goals were different – he was searching for a few pounds.

At mile three in the 87-degree sun, we ran into a local bowhunter heading to his truck. Knowing that I drove across the country, picked a spot and managed to see a local there boosts my

Flatlander (noun): someone from lower elevations, typically those residing somewhere west of Appalachia and east of the Rockies

Photo: Drew Kazenski

confidence. We were more excited than he was, but he couldn’t have been nicer. Before we continued, he parted with, “You’ll find ’em, I just hope you can pack ’em out.”

My 160-pound frame boasted, “Challenge accepted.” But, to myself, under my breath, “Shit, I hope so, too.”

Little did I know he was the last person I’d see other than Bob for several days.

Day 2

We camped on a rock outcropping above a small waterfall, too amped to notice the serenade of flowing water the previous night. But at 5 a.m. it’s a damn good concert – even with no beer.

I heard Bob’s tent unzip; it was time to go. Breakfast was light – a meal bar and a packet of flavored caffeine in filtered, cold mountain stream water. I was probably eight ounces lighter at this point and a brand-new man.

We continued up the ravine. Tall peaks rose above the pines surrounding us. The morning was silent until the sound of a bugle breaks through like a 2 a.m. car alarm heard in my rural Illinois farm town. Holy shit! The bugles continue, but I knew enough to recognize he wasn’t around the next bend. We pushed on, over dead timber and through spring-induced muck that reminded me of March in the Illinois soil – the kind of muck that has no bottom.

In a serious whisper, one I couldn’t ignore, Bob said “I see a bighorn.” Our binoculars slipped from our chest harnesses.

“That’s no sheep; that’s an elk. Oh shit, there’s a bunch.” I checked my map; they were on a ridge at 10,000 feet, still some 2,000 feet above us. We then knew where to head.

By this point, the sun had reached a point high above, and it was too much to climb before dark. We glassed, soaked our feet in the stream, filtered water, set up camp and devised a plan. The next day, we planned to climb that mountain. We had a direction. And any direction was better than none, but a direction where elk were spotted was better than any.

Day 3

A nighttime shower ended hours ago, but the water dripping from pine needles above my tent gave the illusion it was still coming down. It was 5 a.m. – time to climb. We settled on a drainage to work our way up to a bench, then over the ridge by afternoon. Easier said than done.

Every step up, the incline increased – from below, it hadn’t looked this steep. I looked behind me – down – turned back around and decided to keep looking forward. A fire had been lit inside my leg muscles, ignited by an incline unlike any hill in Illinois.

I panted like a golden retriever on a 100-degree day, attempting to suck more air than was possible. “That was rough, Bob. That tested me. … The rest shouldn’t be bad,” I said, as if my first assessment hadn’t been way off. We stood on the bench just a couple hundred yards from the ridge the elk were standing on yesterday.

It was rough terrain. (Rough is a shit way to describe it, as that variable that can change depending on the person.) It was steep, burnt and rocky. I never saw another bootprint – it is the kind of

place your mom would advise you not to fool with. Tracks left behind from some crazy bull gave some footing and mounds of occasional grass supplied flat spots to stand on. Just shy of the ridge, I squeezed out enough words to tell Bob, “When we get over, I’m just going to lay out, man.”

As I looked out across miles, I struggled to find the words to describe the beauty. That land, that public land, was worth every ounce of my energy – to see and to protect.

My panting had subsided for the first time since 5 a.m. (It was then 4 p.m.) I retrieved my binoculars and started scanning. The valley below us was lush. A stream was surrounded by areas of green grass, likely fueled by spring water at the surface. If I were an elk, surviving on water and vegetation, away from people, this was a very decent area to call home.

“Bob! I … think … I see an elk” I chimed in my slow Southern accent. On the next mountain slope, a bull grazed, naturally, with no major concerns – alert but relaxed. We were closer than we were yesterday, but timing was everything, and patience was key.

With no nearby trees, and wind that reminded me of Kansas, we headed down to new-growth pines. I would have gone any way except the way we’d come up. At 9 p.m. we set camp. I devoured a meal and slipped into a mountain coma.

My faith was restored. there was still a chance. He was still here, and so were the Flatlanders.

Day 4

The temperature plummeted. It rained most of the night. I dragged myself from the tent, remembering the beating I was blessed with yesterday.

We headed to the stream for our daily water pump. Oh, how quickly we forget what really matters in our busy lives. My primary concerns over the last few days were finding a semi-flat area to camp, avoiding falling and obtaining clean water – the basics.

We headed to our glassing rock for a few hours: a perch above the 9,500-foot valley. The rock was large enough. If it was a garage, you could park your car in it – a gift from a glacier long before. Bob liked to combat the rain by wrapping up in an old gray rain fly, not moving, and telling me he was a rock.

The bull appeared again but had moved slightly further away. The timing was not right to pursue; he was high, we were low, and the thermals would push our scent right to him. Patience.

We moved a little closer in the evening. I dreamed of elk coming down to feed in the green grass. Instead, we got a show of black bears. They crept over the ridge, never stopping more than a couple seconds. I’d compare their movements to that of a pinball machine in a 1980s bowling alley. One was within 120 yards but became aware of us; I’m pretty sure it is still running to Wyoming.

The bull never showed. Just before dark he let out a bugle and continued until a thunderstorm hit at 10 p.m. My faith was restored; there was still a chance. He was still here, and so were the Flatlanders.

My eyes snapped open as if they were a saloon door meeting the boot of a cowboy in an old Western. It’s a bugle, not just any bugle. It was close enough that we realized we needed to evacuate the tent. There was still time. It was dark, but the sun raced from the east.

I heard Bob’s groggy voice, “Let’s get him!” We decided to head to Glassing Rock to get an idea on where he was.

I told Bob, “It was really damp last night; when we get there I’m going to reload this muzzleloader.”

We never made it to Glassing Rock.

The sun was creeping over the mountain.

“There’s elk!” Bob whispered. There they were, 300 yards in the bottom. Bob scanned through his binoculars. “It’s a legal bull; let’s go.” We spaced out about 30 yards – more opportunities for shots, less movement in one spot. Bob started “speaking cow” through a mouth call. The bull let out a bugle, turned toward us and was on a mission. I signalled to Bob that the white rock ahead was 120 yards. The bull didn’t stop moving until he was standing at 100 yards, just in front of the white rock.

I was positioned on a log, perfect bench height, focused on the front sight. The world around me drifted away. It was me and the bull – my finger on the trigger. POOF – the gun fires. It was a smoke show, but it sounded like only half the powder went. My stomach turned into what felt like a thousand twists and crawled up into my throat.

The bull stared at me. A small part of me said to cuss, reload and try again. My mind also said Bob may have a shot. Don’t move. Don’t breathe. Imagine you are a rock behind some smoke.

BOOM, Bob’s muzzleloader yells. A 338-grain slug made contact, piercing both lungs and stopping just inside the hide on the far side. The bull made a couple steps and crashed down.

I can’t imagine the pressure Bob must have felt, yet he still made the shot after hearing my light load.

My legs were shaking so badly I could hardly stand. I looked for Bob and saw his grin. I threw my hands in the air with excitement. “WE DID IT!”

An hour before I’d sent my wife a satellite message – it was our anniversary. My next message home read: “BULL DOWN BULL DOWN BULL DOWN.”

Only 10% of those who are lucky enough to get a tag here are successful. From beginning to end, we researched, studied and trained for that moment. However, with a bull on the ground, the real work had just begun.

There was nothing but appreciation for what this bull would provide our families. I was humbled. My stomach was no longer twisted. I felt nothing but thankfulness.

We were on public land, 9,500 feet and six miles from the truck. Camp was our back. The plan was to relay meat and camp and keep it all moving. We made quick work of the breakdown and were ready to pack two hind quarters, two front quarters, two backstraps the size of my legs and three bags of trim.

We loaded the first relay, each taking a hind quarter. We’d move down the mountain a quarter mile, place those loads in the shade and then head back empty for more. The second load is two front quarters and a bag of trim. Backstraps, trim and skull is the other.

The third load was camp; it was the lightest.

“BULL DOWN BULL DOWN BULL DOWN” was sent at 8 a.m. We worked through the day – pack, rest, water, repeat. At 11 p.m., all of the meat and camp was down the mountain. It was no easy feat, and surprisingly, after watching bears all week, no one had greeted the moving meat pile.

I felt like an ant moving a giant piece of food down a hill. I also felt like the strongest person in the world – with a really sore back. Too tired to pitch my tent, I used my trekking poles to support a rain fly. We slept on the ground under a pine, the meat stacked in a different tree – far enough but not too far. We were still three miles from the truck.

Day 6

I woke up in the same position I’d fallen asleep in. Sleep was not a struggle. We moved our packs to the trailhead. The truck is another mile beyond that. Along the way we ran into hunters from Nebraska.

“Giving up?” one asked.

“No, sir, still in it. We are packing meat,” I proudly replied.

“Are you the Illinois boys, by chance? Their truck hasn’t moved since we’ve been here, starting to get a little worried.”

“Yep! I’ll take that as a compliment. We are better than OK, just heavier than when we left,” I said.

We continued relaying; by 4 p.m, all the meat was at the trailhead. We were beat but not broken. The decision was made to carry some meat further toward the truck, then to head up the switchback road and bring the truck down as far as we could – it might save us some time and energy.

As we started to climb switchback road, the Nebraska crew was done hunting for the day and returning to their camp – on ATVs. “Can we help?”

“Yes, yes, you sure can.” Their assistance saved us about a mile

Photo: Drew Kazenski

each way and a couple hours’ time.

All the was meat loaded in coolers, which had been prestocked with ice. When you plan as if you are bringing something back, you’ll be ready when you do.

Before we left the flatland, Bob and I had real conversations about scenarios we’d run into. From the beginning, the plan was if you had a shot, take it, and we’d split whatever we brought back. Hell! Bob had even presented the idea of using a bandsaw to split the skull.

It’d be a good story, but there was no need. I had meat, a damn good story and a hell of a friend. The experience was unlike anything else, and the meat was an added bonus. Both were unlikely to have happened without public land.

Drew Kazenski resides in rural Central Illinois and serves as co-chair of the Illinois BHA chapter. With a great passion for hunting, fishing, conservation and the future of it all, he believes we all take something from the land; therefore we should all give something back.

THE WORLD’S MOST GRILL VERSATILE JUST GOT SMARTER WOODWIND

WIFI PELLET GRILL

For some of us, fishing isn’t just about how many or how big— and it’s not about nailing the photo. It’s about the the struggle, the work, those hard and hilarious moments that fuel our tailgate tales. It’s about the adventure. NRS Fishing helps you catch it with rugged, functional equipment and apparel built for fishing the waters less traveled.

nrs.com

Proud partner of Backcountry Hunters & Anglers

HOOF BUNDLES

BY MIKE STEVENSON

Lime green lichen grew between the hooves, shreds of faded hair and rawhide still clung to them, and gnaw marks from mice and grizzlies had long ago turned gray against the white bone. I was surprised that the elk hoof bundle was still there. Time had changed the forest, and through the falling snow, it had taken a while to find the tree in which it hung. The old No. 9 lookout phone wire had held tight though, and there it was. I remembered back to the day I’d hung it up; was it really almost 40 years ago?

The bull had known I was on his trail. I was not the first predator to follow him, and he knew some tricks. But that day must have been his day off because he wasn’t in a hurry, and he made two mistakes: he bedded upwind and too close to the old logging road where I tracked him. For the last half mile his meandering tracks had told me he was thinking of laying down, and when he got close to the little knoll where I knew bulls had bedded before, I started tasting elk steaks.

His tracks left the road and snuck into the thick forest. The

snow was quieter on the road though, so I stayed on it a little longer. With my finger on the trigger, I inched forward. Then like a rocket, the bull was up and changing address fast. Seconds before, I had subliminally noted a narrow window through the brush. As he moved, my sights were on the opening a split second before he was – just long enough for the .30-06 180 gr. Nosler to find his heart as he passed through.

After preparing the quarters for pack out, I cut the four hooves off at the knee joints. Drops of dark blood fell as I tied them up together, as high as I could reach.

I thought back to when I was a kid hiking with my grandfather in the foothills behind East Glacier, Montana. Hidden just off the trail, I had found an old bundle of elk hooves hanging in an aspen tree. When I asked Grandpa what it was, he said cautiously, “I think it’s a way that some of the Blackfeet still say thanks, a way to show that they tried to use it all.” Something about the find and his reply stayed with me, and later, after my father taught me how to hunt, hoof bundles often marked the kills on my backtrail.

It was snowing harder now. I watched the big flakes weave

Artwork: Jessy Stevenson

down through the pine branches, past the beards of black moss, taking their time to find the ground. One of them spiraled lazily around the bundle, pulling me back through the years.

I found myself at the center tree now, in Nolan Yellow Kidney’s Sun Dance lodge. I was there wondering why they’d asked me, the newcomer white guy, to help tie up the prayer cloths and leave the tobacco offerings at the base of the tree. With all the people watching, I was nervous as I carefully wrapped the many colored cloths around the aspen trunk. Then, while trying not to cover the photo of a woman’s face that someone had put up, a voice behind me quietly said, “It’s OK, you can cover her up now.” I turned around to find a man sitting on the ground, his smile inviting me to join him.

Friends had told me about him. “Bob Stump is a medicine person,” they said. “He can maybe show you some things about the old ways of taking plants and animals.” I was skeptical. After all, I had hunted, trapped, fished, logged and farmed all my life. “What could he show me,” I thought ... but curiosity nudged me to sit down. As it turned out, the photo was of Bob’s wife, who had just passed away.

He needed a place to stay, and I had an extra room in the back of my old house, so we made a deal, knowledge for rent. He’s still there.

Later, Bob and I were up in the mountains gathering plants for his 101, an old-time healing blend. “You have to communicate with them,” he said. “That’s what makes the medicine work.” It was a hot day in August and sweat soaked my shirt. “Tell them they

are beautiful,” he continued. “Then let’s give thanks to the Creator by leaving a little tobacco.” He sang as he folded the pipsissewa leaves into a beaded bag. I tried to remember the strange words, but they got tangled up in the heat, while my mind stretched to make sense of it all.

Then I drifted back to the Sun Dance ceremony where Bob and I had met.

I could smell the sweetgrass smudge. We passed the four pipes around the circle, an old man praying with one for a long time before he smoked. I could hear all the laughter and the songs. I felt the drumming – or was it the heartbeat of the earth? Dancers kept rhythm with eagle bone whistles, and for four days the smoky dust mingled into the spirit world.

Suddenly, a gunshot echoed from the northern ridge, and I was back at the hoof bundle. The snow had stopped, and I wondered how the chickadees on the branch in front of me had arrived unnoticed. Pouring a little coffee, I smiled, knowing my daughter Jessy had followed an elk track up to that ridge earlier in the morning. I glanced up at the hoof bundle once more. Then I left some tobacco on the ground, shouldered my pack and rifle, and looked for a game trail heading north.

BHA member Mike Stevenson writes from Missoula, Montana, and roams between western Montana, the Blackfeet Indian Reservation and Alaska. In his younger years, he worked as a mule packer and guide in the Bob Marshall Wilderness, where he spent many solitary winters trapping and exploring.

Lessons from September

BY LINDSEY YUNDT

There are things that you learn in September like the difference between a creak and a crack a sway and a snap a scrape and a crash one means life

Wind that can just dissipate dust will carry your scent across a ravine your boots and bows will never beat it

These woodland ghosts –there is no quiet quite like theirs no way to see shape or shine or shift quite like they can They listen to the other creatures – ravens, squirrels, the bark of a muley –They listen to the footsteps and heavy breaths and near-silent whispers and disappear

Their screams echo and haunt the daylight, the dark, the dreams They make you wonder if they are real or imagined

And only when your partner nods and turns and skips a heartbeat like you do do you know for sure

A dead branch barely hanging on to a wind-and-winter-ravaged ponderosa can send an arrow astray, the flight bringing sheer thrill and utter disappointment

I learned why we wait all year for September

Photo: Lindsey Yundt

My husband has always been a hunter, and I have always been a hiker. I never had much interest in hunting myself, as something in my brain (fear or anxiety, perhaps?) makes it extremely difficult for me to pull the trigger of a gun – but I enjoyed exploring public lands in Idaho alongside him. He started bowhunting 10 years ago and has been suggesting to me for nearly all of those years that archery would be something I could be quite good at due to my detail- and precision-oriented personality. We picked out a bow in November 2020 for my birthday, and I fell in love with it.

As I progressed as a shooter and increased my draw weight, I decided to take hunter’s and bowhunter’s education courses to qualify for an Idaho hunting license. We were both fortunate enough to get high-demand archery elk tags in our favorite unit. The early part of the season was hot and the elk were silent, so my first lethal arrow got us a beautiful dusky grouse.

The second half of the season was a completely different story. We hiked over 50 miles during the last week of the season, with the bulls still screaming. We found an incredible drainage that gave us access to five different ridgetops, which all held multiple bulls. We started our hike each morning at 5:30 a.m. – waders, headlamps and down layers all quite necessary – and once we reached the juncture, we would listen for the loudest (and closest) bull and head up whatever face he was on. The timber and deadfall were incredibly thick, the hillsides were terribly steep, the shaded areas were too cold to rest or glass in, and I could not stop smiling. The bulls kept us encouraged and moving for hours upon hours, miles and miles, day after day.

The most memorable moment of the hunt for me was when I nocked an arrow and drew on a monstrous 6-point, I lowered my head towards my bowstring and thought, “I don’t know how to use this thing!” Finding a familiar anchor point helped me shake that feeling off and get a sight pin on him, but I had to laugh afterward at how the intensity of that moment affected me.

Neither of us were able to harvest this season, but we had some heart-slamming and adrenaline-filled close calls.

I drafted this poem as we were hiking out on closing day, because I wanted to remember all of the things I learned and felt that will continue to shape my identity and success as a bowhunter.

BHA member Lindsey Yundt is a clinical assistant professor in STEM education at Boise State University and was a first-year bow hunter in the fall of 2021. She and her husband Jake were high school sweethearts and together have two adventurous children who enjoy exploring the Idaho backcountry with backpacks, bows, bikes, or boards – whatever the season calls for.

Photo by:

CAMPFIRE CIRCLE

The Campfire Circle is a group of dedicated advocates, like you, who choose to donate $1,000 or more per year to ensure that BHA’s campaigns, advocacy and on the ground efforts on behalf of our wild public lands, waters and wildlife are sustained. Support from the Campfire Circle (formerly known as Legacy Partners) is crucial to the mission of BHA.

PROJECT ASPEN

Our shared lands, our responsibility. We are working to diversify our funding sources to ensure that BHA will always be working on behalf of our wild public lands, waters and wildlife – for generations to come – by establishing a $1 million endowment. This investment will grow and become a perpetual funding stream that exists to support the future needs of our organization, regardless of any unpredictable challenges beyond our influence. Give today to form the root structure that will sustain BHA for many years to come.

LEGACY GIVING

Including Backcountry Hunters & Anglers in your plans for the future will create a long-lasting impact for our wild public lands, waters and wildlife. Your commitment to BHA will allow the next generation of conservation leaders to continue our work as part of your legacy. Including BHA in your will, trust, retirement account or life insurance policy is one of the easiest and quickest ways to support the future.

ONE-TIME OR MONTHLY DONATIONS

You can choose to make one donation at a time or become a sustaining donor and make monthly donations. All donations are fully tax-deductible and go toward securing the future of hunting and angling – ensuring that you have access to public lands and waters and healthy fish and wildlife habitat when you get there.

OTHER WAYS TO GIVE

AmazonSmile – to support BHA through your everyday Amazon purchases, visit smile.amazon.com and register BHA as your preferred nonprofit.

more information.

ETHICS & ETIQUETTE:

Aren’t there two sides?

BY SCOTT LINDEN

It was the year of “the movie,” – “A River Runs Through It” –where Brad Pitt inspired everyone to try fly fishing. My home water was crawling with wader-clad newbies straight out of the Orvis catalog, frothing the water with their casts, untangling wind knots and pulling flies from tree limbs – when they weren’t poaching my pool.

Have you ever dealt with “that guy?” If you said “no,” could you be him? In the heat of a stalk, the adrenaline rush at hitting the hatch just right, when a pheasant flushes between your legs; it could happen to anyone. (My rap sheet is long and lurid.) But that’s the point. Difficult as it is, being self-aware not only helps you maintain civility; it makes the experience richer for everyone.

Etiquette is defined as “the customary code of polite behavior in society.” Ethics put the emphasis on moral behavior. Both loom daily in the field, where there are no referees, no spectators. Let’s explore and examine others’ – and our own – behaviors, to avoid being “that guy.”

How about this: You got up so early you shouldn’t have bothered going to bed. Scent-free and stealthy, you’re shivering in your ground blind hoping that eight-pointer you patterned all summer shows up. A twig cracks, leaves rustle and in the distance you see a headlamp bobbing your way.

Or: You and your partner are skulking toward a trembling, bulge-eyed shorthair on point. A covey of Hungarian partridge screeches skyward – BANG! Your bird drops and you race for it, but you’re overtaken by your buddy going to pick up his … er, the same bird.

A couple beers into the campfire, everyone can tell a story like those. Hunting and fishing are a string of subtle, complex and aggravating details jumbled together. But no matter the quarry, the place or the people, one guiding principle can make virtually every encounter, each situation, turn out positively. Both parties may not be completely satisfied, but neither is hair-on-fire crazy, either.

Yep, among myriad shades of gray, clarity is at hand. Sometimes, ire is the righteous response. Or forehead slapping. But usually in the woods or knee-deep in a steelhead run, The Golden Rule is a pretty good compass for thoughts and actions.

I’d slammed the tailgate and cut my dog loose when a shiny 4WD skidded into the parking area in a cloud of dust. The driver pretended to ignore us as we set out down the overgrown skid road in search of ruffed grouse. He grabbed a shotgun and nonchalantly followed, avoiding eye contact so judiciously he stumbled every few yards on fallen limbs and rough spots.

“Treat others as you would like others to treat you” may date to Confucian times, but is especially relevant now. In a game where you’re often alone, the fewer rules there are, the easier it is to follow them. This one is immutable.

A friend took me to a public-ground chukar hill loaded with birds – easy walking, close to town and with bonus valley quail in the creek bottom. I’d driven past without a thought for decades,

Photos: Scott LInden

and would be still if he hadn’t insisted on returning a favor. Can I go back without him?

Carrying with safety on, pointed in a safe direction – Hunter’s Ed. 101, right? Not so simple on a block-and-drive pheasant hunt or skulking toward a bugling elk.

Approaching a tempting pool where someone is working the other side? What if a big rainbow just sipped a mayfly on your side?

Your buddy’s shorthair busts a covey out of gun range – do you correct the dog? Pulling into an isolated valley you find a hunter off-loading his dog. What do you do – or not do? Say it with me now.

Walking that proverbial mile in their boots is one simple way to be an ethical hunter or angler. Hell, even I can remember one rule.

Powering upstream, you round a bend and find a fellow angler painstakingly working into position for a cast. Do you stomp past on the streamside path?

You’re glassing a hillside when a shot pierces the air. Well-hit and going down soon, the buck stumbles into your sightline and pauses. Whose deer is it now?

Sometimes, what you don’t do bollixes The Rule. From mooching someone else’s lunch to not carrying a survival kit, you’re forcing someone else to pick up the slack. Bringing your fair share of the booze, pitching in for gas, helping someone gut and carry, there’s that pesky rule again.

Oh, and no whining. Ever.

Etiquette, ethics, civility, sportsmanship – it sets the stage for a peak experience, and it starts with looking at both sides. Many years ago, the mayor of Las Vegas, William H. Briare, said, “Our city’s reputation depends on you, me and us.” I bet he was a hunter or angler.

BHA member Scott Linden hosts and produces the upland bird hunting television show Wingshooting USA and the Upland Nation podcast. He is the author of “Training and Hunting Bird Dogs” (Skyhorse Publishing); a third printing came out in paperback in the fall of 2021. His authority website is findbirdhuntingspots.com.

Walking that proverbial mile in their boots is one simple way to be an ethical hunter or angler.

The Origins and Purpose of the North American Model

of Wildlife Conservation

With thoughts on the future role of the ethical hunter

BY JOHN ORGAN

The North American Model of Wildlife Conservation is a set of principles individually encoded in law and policy that collectively distinguish wildlife conservation in Canada and the United States from other forms worldwide. It is also one of the most misunderstood and misrepresented concepts in the wildlife conservation institution today. It too often has been transmogrified and even weaponized in popular discourse, policy debates and published literature.

The seven principles that comprise the Model are (1) wildlife resources are a public trust; (2) markets for game, songbirds and shorebirds are eliminated; (3) allocation of wildlife is by law; (4) wildlife can only be killed for a legitimate purpose; (5) wildlife is considered an international resource; (6) science is the proper tool to discharge wildlife policy; (7) democracy of hunting.

Origin of the North American Model Concept

The concept of the Model was created by Dr. Valerius Geist during his tenure as chair of the Faculty of Environmental Design at the University of Calgary. Geist was born in Ukraine when it was part of the Soviet Union and emigrated to Austria when he was a young boy. He emigrated to Canada as a young man, eventually earning a Ph.D. from The University of British Columbia and publishing groundbreaking research on the evolution and behavior of mountain sheep, and joining the faculty at the University of Calgary. Geist’s extensive global experience as a wildlife scientist, combined with his Ukrainian, Austrian and Canadian upbringing and citizenship gave him firsthand knowledge of various continental and national conservation programs and policies. The Model concept evolved in Geist’s thinking and writing over many years as he pondered how the continental successes in restoring wildlife in North America differed from other forms, particularly those in Eurasia. An early iteration of the concept described public ownership of wildlife and three additional policies as the basis for the “North American system of wildlife management.”

Geist stated: “The North American system of wildlife management is unique in that, with few exceptions, it makes the pub-

lic both de jure and de facto owner of the wildlife resources. … North America’s wildlife conservation is based on three primary policies that support the superstructure of laws, regulations, beliefs and attitudes pertaining to conservation. These policies are 1) the absence of a market in the meat, parts and products of game animals, shorebirds and songbirds; 2) the allocation of the material benefits of wildlife by law rather than by the marketplace, birthright, land ownership or social position; and 3) the prohibition on frivolous killing of wildlife.”

To public ownership and these principles, Geist later added, under the title “North American Policies of Wildlife Conservation”: wildlife is an international resource to be managed cooperatively by sovereign states. A sixth principle – science is a proper tool for discharging management responsibilities – was added by Geist in a subsequent paper on conservation successes. Geist named science and an integrated approach (foreshadowing ecosystem management) as important foundations for natural resource policies but thought those conditions were only partially realized at that time.

The first paper to formally refer to these principles as the North American Model of Wildlife Conservation added as the seventh principle the democracy of hunting because both Aldo Leopold, the father of wildlife conservation, and Theodore Roosevelt identified “democracy of sport” as a factor that distinguished wildlife conservation in North America from Europe. The term “model” was used to mean an example or representation, not in the sense of a predictor or formula.

The Model was never intended to capture the full suite of policies and practices that characterize conservation in Canada and the United States. Rather, it identifies those rooted in treaty, law and broad-based policy that in combination represent a unique North American approach. For example, the Model has often been criticized for not having explicit reference to the establishment of parks and refuges; these are not unique to North America and, unfortunately, are not provided for in broad-based law that supersedes destructive uses of land.

Indeed, Leopold’s admonishment in 1943 that we shall achieve conservation when and only when the destructive use of land becomes unethical – punished by social ostracism – is a harsh reminder today, 80 years later, that we have yet to elevate habitat

Photo: Dusky grouse, Alex Krebs, 2021 Public Lands and Waters Photo Contest

conservation to a principle unique in the world in that it supersedes other uses.

Quite often one hears reference to the Model as “archaic” while expressing sentiment that it must be revised or reinvented. Reinventing a history that is self-evident in law and policy is a dubious venture and serves no practical purpose in wildlife conservation. We cannot go back in history and relinquish treaty and law. What purpose would be achieved by removing wildlife from the trust of government for the benefit of citizens? What benefit would arise from removing legal protections for wildlife? Do we not want the best scientific information used in executing wildlife policy? Would we maintain popular support for wildlife conservation if only the privileged and elite had legal access to wildlife?

Often, we have seen the Pittman-Robertson user-pay/user-benefit funding mechanism in the United States erroneously equated with the Model; the seven principles do not pertain to funding, in part, because Canada and the United States have quite different funding approaches. Furthermore, funding, rather than representing a principle, is purely a means to implement policies. It is true that the narrower the funding base, the more limited the application of principles and policies, often directed disproportionately towards game species. This represents a cogent argument for more and broader-based funding, as the Model is not, as many allege, game-centric, and most principles have application to all taxa.

The absence of traditional ecological knowledge in formulating the major laws and policies that grounded North American conservation in the late 19th and the 20th centuries represents a failure of our predecessors in recognizing, acknowledging and incorporating the traditions, experiences and knowledge of Native

peoples, whose cultures have been intertwined with wildlife for millennia on this continent. A major accomplishment of this century would be for the Native American Fish and Wildlife Society and other indigenous-based organizations to document the principles that represent the conservation ethos of Native and First Nation peoples, and for policy makers to heed them.

Modifying the Model to incorporate these and other principles serves no functional purpose, however. The Model, you see, is not in itself a legal rule of conduct that directs the daily tasks of wildlife conservation authorities. As stated earlier, it is purely a concept identifying the key legal and broad-based policy initiatives that collectively were unique to Canada and the United States, which helps us understand how we on this continent achieved such success in conserving and restoring wildlife relative to other continent’s approaches. Each one of the principles is codified, but the collective body – the Model – is not.

What then is the purpose of the Model, and what benefit can it provide? First, it enables us to recognize and celebrate the great conservation achievements of the 20th century. Second, it offers focal points as dynamic social, economic and environmental forces continue to present conservation challenges. Is there ongoing or punctuated erosion or threats to any of these laws and policies? Do we need to be diligent in shoring up fissures in these policies? Third, and most importantly, in the face of current and emerging challenges, it exposes gaps that enable us to identify new broadbased legal and policy initiatives that will be needed if we are to conserve our natural heritage for future generations on this continent.

This does not mean “fixing” the Model – it means that we, the broad wildlife conservation institution including hunters, need to

The Model, in enabling us to look back and celebrate our achievements formed during a time of seemingly insurmountable barriers, demonstrates that, yes, we can go forward and secure wildlife for the future.

Photo: Pennsylvania elk, Sara Benner, 2021 Public Lands and Waters Photo Contest

bear down as our ancestors did and face these emerging challenges head-on, incorporating diverse perspectives and the traditional ecological knowledge and great scientific advances we have developed, to introduce novel legal mechanisms and the public support necessary to enact them in order to achieve conservation. Wildlife professionals and policy makers need to understand such fundamentals as the Public Trust Doctrine and the critical role that eliminating wildlife markets served in the restoration of North American wildlife. Why? Because professionals and policy makers will be (and already are) confronted with initiatives to alter these policies. Most importantly, comparing the challenges of the past to those now emerging helps envision what bold new initiatives may be needed to ensure a continent rich in diversity of wild animals and wild places.

The Model, in enabling us to look back and celebrate our achievements formed during a time of seemingly insurmountable barriers, demonstrates that, yes, we can go forward and secure wildlife for the future. Those achievements could not have been accomplished without leaders who had the vision, fortitude and grit to leave us with what may in fact be one of America’s greatest gifts to humanity. We, hunters and non-hunters alike, are the custodians of that gift entrusted to us, and we must work together if we are to overcome emerging challenges facing the conservation of our natural resources. The future of hunting in this construct will depend in large part upon the degree it is perceived by society as principled and ethical. Leaders in our midst who espouse those values will help secure this future.

BHA member John Organ serves on the governor-appointed Massachusetts Fisheries and Wildlife Board. He is a wildlife biologist and previously served as chief of the USGS Cooperative Fish and Wildlife Research Units and chief of the Wildlife and Sport Fish Restoration Program for the northeast region USFWS. He is an Orion board member and past president of The Wildlife Society, which bestowed the Aldo Leopold Medal on him. He also received the George Bird Grinnell Award from the Wildlife Management Institute and the Meritorious Service Award from the Department of the Interior.

Editor’s Note: For those interested in a detailed explanation of the North American Model of Wildlife Conservation, the author suggests the following references: Organ, J.F. 2018a. The North American model of wildlife conservation and the public trust doctrine. Chapter 13, pages 125 – 135 in B.D. Leopold, W.B. Kessler, and J.L. Cummins, eds., North American Wildlife Policy and Law. Boone and Crockett Club, Missoula, Montana, USA

This department is brought to you by Orion - The Hunter’s Institute, a nonprofit and BHA partner dedicated to advancing hunting ethics and wildlife conservation.

INGREDIENTS

1/2 cup flour

1 large egg

1/2 cup crushed salted pretzels

1 grouse breast, cut into medallions

Cracked pepper

1 tsp Montana Mex Mild Chile Seasoning

Pinch Montana Mex Jalapeño Seasoning

1/2 cup avocado oil

3 tbsp butter

CHICKEN FRIED GROUSE

BY EDUARDO GARCIA

When it comes to hunting elk, the reality is that more often than not you don’t end up harvesting an animal on the first, second or subsequent numerous forays made in pursuit of this pantry staple. But I have found that if I remain open to the bigger picture of the wild places where elk live, I never go home empty-handed.

I offer this story from a recent fall archery hunt – the genesis trip of this chicken fried grouse recipe. As dusk settled on a long day of pursuit, with full hearts and tired legs we turned back towards spike camp. On the way out, a grouse was spotted, an idea took hold, an arrow was notched and a successful harvest was made.

A bird in the hand after a day in the elk woods. Brunch? Why not? Back in the kitchen, I realized I only had a little bit of flour. Not quite enough to make a breading. But we did have a handful of pretzels left over from our camp snacks. Crunch, crunch, crunch, the pretzels pulverize into a flaky, salty breading of sorts that fits the need of the moment.

Since then, this has become my go-to for a consistently crunchy, flavorful and no-fuss breading for most fowl and light meat applications like wild pig or hare. I’ve played with the seasoning a bit and have landed on my favorite, which reminds me of a Nash-

Editor’s note: Thank you to our friends at Montana Mex for offering BHA members a 10% discount using this QR code.

ville-style hot chicken. I liberally season the meat to be breaded with the Montana Mex Mild Chile Seasoning and Montana Mex Jalapeño Seasoning blends. Combine these seasonings, add a balanced and bold mix of chiles, herbs, garlic and sea salt.

This basic recipe can build up into a crispy sandwich, get chopped and mixed with a salad or be smothered by whiskey-sauteed apples alongside French toast – which is how we enjoyed ours in camp that evening. Tweak it in any way that best suits your crew and circumstance, and perhaps above all, take advantage of these impromptu moments.

Crushed pretzels add an extra crunch to this tasty camp breakfast classic. Get decadent and serve this with French toast and whiskey-sauteed apples!

When given a little breathing room these moments often create meals that ascend from routine to memorable. So, I hope you enjoy this recipe and share it with those who you love.

Buen Provecho!

BHA member Eduardo Garcia is a professional chef, a founder of the clean label, national food brand Montana Mex and an outdoorsman with a penchant for sharing his full-spectrum approach to a wild-harvested lifestyle. Visit montanamex.com for more information.

Photo: Max Benz of Idarado Media. Shot for First Lite MOMENTS film, 2019. Bio image: First Lite, Max Benz

INSTRUCTIONS

1. Season the grouse with salt, pepper and a sprinkle of Jalapeno Seasoning to suit your heat preferences. Grab three separate shallow bowls. Add 1/8 cup of flour to one bowl for dredging. Add one beaten egg to the second bowl. In the third bowl, thoroughly mix the crushed pretzels, remaining flour, and the Montana Mex Mild Chile Seasoning.

2. To bread the grouse, first pass it through the bowl containing only flour until the entire breast piece is lightly floured. Tap off any excess flour. Dip the lightly floured grouse in the egg until thoroughly painted and let any excess egg drip off. Finally, lay the breast piece in the pretzel mixture and flip over until both sides are evenly and fully breaded. Press firmly to help the breading stick onto the meat. Set these to the side until all the grouse is breaded.

3. Heat a large skillet over medium high heat. Add avocado oil and butter and allow to come up to temperature for a few seconds and blend into a unified frying medium. Carefully lay the breaded grouse pieces into the pan without overcrowding the pan. You may need to fry a few batches. Fry for two minutes on each side. When both sides are browned and crispy, remove from the skillet and drain on a plate lined with a paper towel or other absorbent paper.

4. Eat immediately with your favorite breakfast.

Listen to two fascinating conversations between Hal Herring and Eduardo Garcia in episodes 49 and 123 of the BHA Podcast & Blast.

Bears, bugs and battles with trout

Although doubt had entered my mind several times, Google Maps did indeed get us to the trailhead around 2 a.m.

Mike had been up for close to 50 hours thanks to a 24-hour shift as a doctor. I could lie and say I felt sorry for him, but I’m really not that nice of a friend – and my closest friendships are built more on sarcasm and mockery than kindness.

We pitched a big car-camping tent in the trailhead parking lot as the sky began to open up, so our backpacking tents would be dry to start the trip. Neither Mike nor Adam looked pleased when I informed them we’d have to be up before 7 and on the trail by 9 in order to make night one’s camp by dark. But I lacked sympathy – adventure always requires sacrifice.

I’d picked Fish Lake as our night one destination because it was supposed to be good fishing. Unfortunately, 14 soggy miles and 4,500 feet of elevation later, as the sun set between rain clouds, we were all too tired to string rods. Mike and I were tired because, well, we’re not in that good of shape. Adam was tired because his pack weighed double ours. He said this was for training purposes because he has a 110-mile adventure race coming up. After he pulled out a clean shirt on day four, I started to think he just really likes an embarrassingly large wardrobe for the backcountry. And I think he may have been taking pity on us with the tired talk because he never once looked out of breath, even as a flatlander at 10,000 feet.

Days two and three we smartened up (a tad) and only went about six miles a day so we’d have time to fish. We ate trout cooked in tinfoil over the fire, chilled our drinks with last year’s snow, glassed for sheep and elk and left the concerns of civilization behind – which were replaced by more immediate concerns of mosquito swarms and grizzly bears.

The bear concerns never really came to fruition, but it’s something that never leaves your mind in the home of Ursus horribilis. (I was sleeping under a new ultralight tarp, and it’s funny how much purely superficial protection you miss when your tent lacks a door.) The mosquitos did, however, live up to their reputation. Those I could probably have done without, but beggars can’t be choosers, and, again ... sacrifices.

Three nights is a fine length trip into the backcountry in my book. Less can still be enjoyable, but you really don’t get to settle into things. More is of course preferable, but I rarely get that these days. And much longer than that, anyway, and I become pretty feral and ill-suited for my return to society when it inevitably comes. The sweet spot in the middle is simply rejuvenating.

-Zack Williams, editor

Photos: Mike Palmisano, Adam Fox.

OMEN STORMSHELTER